


ACOMAF - Rhysand's Perspective - Part 3

by OtterlyWasted



Series: ACOMAF - Rhysand's Perspective [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Hybern, Prythian, The Night Court, Velaris, house of wind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 18:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19011754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtterlyWasted/pseuds/OtterlyWasted
Summary: WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.This Section:Ch. 1 - Rhysand and Feyre arrive in VelarisCh. 2 - Feyre sees Velaris for the first timeCh. 3 - Rhysand takes Feyre through a tour of VelarisCh. 4 - Rhysand flies Feyre up to the House of WindCh. 5 - The family dinner at the HOW / Feyre decides to work with themCh. 6 - Rhysand returns Feyre to the town house after dinnerCh. 7 - Rhysand has a private meeting with Amren (New Scene)I hope you all enjoy!*Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.





	1. The City of Starlight

I watched her make her way towards her bedroom, still a little unsteady on her feet but determined and… maybe even a little excited.

Excitement coursed through me in waves and I alternatively felt like I was freezing and burning as my thoughts bounced around in my head. I walked to the balcony around the veranda and stared off at the mountains for several minutes, filling my lungs with the cold mountain air as I tried to center myself.

In many ways everything was about to get a lot more difficult – if being apart from her had been torture, being so close to her day after day was going to be its own form of torment. But at least, if absolutely nothing else, I would know she was _safe_ and cared for – even if she decided she couldn’t stomach working with me, well, that would be fine, but I would know she was eating and sleeping and that she wasn’t alone.

Taking another deep breath, I made my way back around towards the dining table, over to a column, and leaned against it, crossing my arms and waiting.

She took longer than ten minutes. She could have taken ten hours and I would still have waited for her. But I was glad she hadn’t taken too much longer, otherwise I would have felt the need to go and check on her – and I doubted she would have appreciated me knocking down the door.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs, her skin flush from the bath, hair still damp and pulled back into a messy braid, dressed in another set of Night Court clothes that she always looked radiant in, I felt my body nearly tremble with excitement.

She approached me and I couldn’t help but tease her lightly as I extended my hand towards her, “That was fifteen minutes.”

She didn’t scowl at me, in fact she looked completely worn out again – she did need to sleep some more; perhaps once we got there, I could convince her to lay down again.

She lifted a hand, taking mine and stepped towards me as I pulled her into my embrace before I winnowed us through the world, landing us lightly in the foyer of my home.

I lowered my arms as she staggered back slightly, and held my breath as I watched her take it all in. The early morning sun filtered in through the windows with cheery warmth, pooling over the thick ornate carpet beneath our feet and caressing the warm, wood paneled walls around us. Choice pieces of artwork, all favorites of mine, dotted the walls, and straight behind me was a stair case leading to the second story. On either side of us were door ways, leading to a comfortably appointed sitting room, and on the opposite, a snug dining room, large enough for my family but nothing like the grandeur of the House of Wind. A tiny hallway down the side of the stair case led to the kitchen and the doors leading to the garden.

She drank it all in, her gaze moving steadily across the floors and walls, taking in the art only briefly, then seeming to notice, all at once, how ordinary it all was – the quality was all good, but I had chosen every piece for comfort instead of style. And I drank in the sight of her standing in the middle of it.

And I did not feel quite so empty.

“Welcome to my home,” I said quietly.

I could see the thoughts that crashed through her mind at my words. The sudden uncertainty of her decision to come here and images of the destruction she had seen in the Spring Court flittered through her mind, along with the reactions people had towards her that made her so uncomfortable. My concern for her was abated by the certainty of the knowledge that she would experience neither of those things here.

Looking up at me she asked in nearly a whisper, “What is this place?”

Crossing my arms across my chest I leaned back against the threshold to the sitting room and answered her, “This is my house. Well, I have two homes in the city. One is for more… official business, but this is only for me and my family.”

She looked around again and the thought about servants hovering flashed through her mind.

“Nuala and Cerridwen are here,” I explained, hoping that they would be a comfort to her, a known variable in a world that had gone to pieces for her in such a short amount of time, “but other than that, it will just be the two of us.”

I saw her tense. As though suddenly the thought of being alone with me was frightening – which both saddened me and made me want to laugh, we had been just as alone at the Night Court, only the size of the building had changed. But if sharing this house with me would bother her too much… I would stay elsewhere, for her... for her to feel safe. I opened my mouth to say as much when there was suddenly pounding on the front door.

“Hurry up, you lazy ass,” Cassian drawled from the other side of the door. I ignored him as I noticed Feyre’s eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. Instead I changed direction from what I was going to tell her, “Two things, Feyre darling.”

The pounding continued, soon followed by Azriel’s cooler voice. “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.”

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here,” Cassian grumbled before adding under his breath, “Busybody.”

A corner of my mouth threatened to curve up, as I never once looked away from Feyre’s tired eyes, “One, no one – _no one_ – but Mor and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. It is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish – and _you_ wish – may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city for that matter. Velaris’s walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish. Those two in the antechamber,” I explained with a bit of a smirk, “might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children.”

Another bang on the door followed by Cassian calling out, “You know we can hear you, prick.”

“ _Secondly_ ,” I pushed on, “In regard to the two bastards at my door, it’s up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you’re still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that.”

Feyre’s eyes looked from me, to the door, and then back, and without her saying a word I knew what she would choose – she looked so very tired, and soul sick.

“Just… come get me when they’re gone.”

There was a brief moment of sadness in me, because I did want her to meet my friends, my family, but it quickly passed in light of everything I knew she had been through. And it was her choice, always her choice.

Right at that moment Amren’s voice joined the other two, scolding them, “You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door.” The knob turned then, and her scorn quickly shifted to me as she called through the door, “Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?”

I ignored Amren and watched as Feyre turned and began to make her way up the stairs, spotting Nuala and Cerridwen at the top waiting for her. I watched until I couldn’t see her before I finally turned, and with a gesture, unlocked the front door, letting the trio inside with a mock scowl.

Cassian stepped through the door first, dressed in his normal simple city attire, dark pants and a blue sweater, and growled at me, “Welcome home, bastard.” Followed immediately by Azriel, dressed remarkably similar to Cassian in style if not color, tending towards blacks and dark grays, “I sensed you were back. Mor filled me in, but I-“

And then by Amren, who wore a pair of deep red slacks and a silver blouse that nearly matched the color of her eyes, with a cream colored trench coat over the top, who cut him off, “Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss.”

I let out a sigh and reached up to rub a temple as Azriel replied back coldly, “As do I.”

Cassian smirked back at Amren, “We were here first. Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One.”

Amren snarled at him.

Suddenly I heard Mor walk up behind me, dressed in loose fitting pair of sweats, having obviously spent the night here waiting for me, as she yawned and said sleepily, “Why is everyone here so _early_? I thought we were meeting tonight at the House.”

Shaking my head, I grumbled at all of them, “Trust me, there’s no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesn’t shut his mouth.”

Cassian just raised his arms in mock offense, “We’re hungry,” he complained, “Feed us. _Someone_ told me there’d be breakfast.”

Amren snorted and quipped at all of them, “Pathetic. You idiots are pathetic.”

Mor just grinned at her, “We know that’s true. But is there food?”

I just shook my head at her, “ _You_ just came from the kitchen.”

“Oh god,” Cassian laughed, “if she’s cooking then I don’t want it.”

Mor’s eyes shot daggers at him and I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. And it was the first truly free laugh I felt like I had since before I went Under the Mountain.

The all stopped bickering long enough to look at me and smile.

I met their smiles and then gestured into the sitting room, “Let’s get this over with friends, and let’s do it quietly please.”

They nodded and filtered into the sitting room, taking up various seats as Mor gestured at the coffee table and a selection of breakfast items appeared: scrambled eggs, sausage, various fruits and pastry’s, along with a stack of plates, cutlery, napkins and a steaming pot of tea. Everyone except Amren made a selection, then sat back munching in silence for a moment before I finally said, “Amren, I am sure what you need to discuss with me is important, but I would like for it to wait until after dinner tonight – if it is about what I think it is.”

Her silver gaze met mine for a moment, then nodded, “As you wish.”

I turned my gaze to Azriel, “What is the fall out?”

Azriel sat his plate down on the side table beside the couch and wiped his mouth on his napkin before leaning forward. “Tamlin has sealed his borders, no one in or out – has to be some of the finest shield work I have ever seen him do.” I arched a brow at him, and he conceded, “It might not be his shield work.”

I let out a low sigh. Hybern. “Your spies? Are they safe?”

He nodded, “I did not have any full-fledged spies in Spring Court, I worked with some of the more ‘unsavory’ fae that the Spring Court denizens were not fond of. The water-wraiths seem to be particularly fond of Feyre, or at least as fond as they care to be about any fae that isn’t their own kind.” That made both of my brows go up in surprise, what in the world had Feyre done to make friends with the water-wraiths? He shrugged at me; he had no idea. “Regardless, they should be safe enough, since they were already ensconced, no one suspects them.”

I nodded and leaned back, thinking, “Summer and Autumn courts? Any troop movement to suggest Tamlin is asking for aid?”

He shook his head again, “No, and we both know it would be a cold day in hell before Tamlin would ask Autumn court for help, not unless he wanted to watch Lucien defect.” He was right about that at least, Cauldron bless Berron, I finally had a good reason to be thankful that old bastard was such an asshole.

“So, if he did ask for aid, it would be from the Summer Court then.” That was not a good thing, not for us and what we needed. Nothing was ever easy. “Azriel I need you to keep track of their fleet, I want numbers and I want to know their positions daily.”

He nodded and picked up his plate to eat again as I looked over at Cassian, “I do not expect Tamlin to come for Feyre directly – for all that he is a beast, he is essentially a coward, except at the very end of the battle when someone else has done all the hard work.” I couldn’t help the sneer that leached into my words. “That being said, we need to be ready to call up the Illyrians, because even if Tamlin does not come for Feyre directly there are others who might. It just depends on how quickly he sealed his borders and if the word of her powers has reached any of the other High Lords.”

Or if he would be willing to sell that tid bit – I doubted that however, Tamlin did not want to share her with anyone.

Cassian however nodded and said, “They aren’t ready to launch into a full-fledged war campaign yet, but we can be prepared to defend Velaris if need be. Although, so long as she stays here, she should be safe.” He shrugged, “No one knows where she or Velaris is.” 

I nodded, “That’s true, and a blessing, but it’s a possibility I want us to be aware of and prepared for.”

Mor piped up, “How likely do you think it is that if the other High Lords knew she had some of their power, that they would come for her?”

I set my own plate aside and leaned forward, sighing, “I’m not sure. I think most of them would not be happy about it, that’s pretty much a given. Upset enough to go to war with us over keeping her here? Unlikely. But they might try stealth. When we leave the Night Court territory, we will need to be vigilant.”

Amren sniffed, “And you need to train that girl on how to defend herself.”

I smiled vaguely and nodded, “Agreed. Her mental shields are rather impressive already, but she has no control over her other gifts.”

Cassien reached over, picking up an apple and biting into it, chewing, then asked, “Physical fighting?”

I shook my head at him, “Not that I know of, hunting is all. I was hoping I might be able to convince you to take her on – she will learn faster under your tutelage.”

He grabbed his chest and gasped, “A compliment!”

I rolled my eyes at him and Mor smacked his arm.

He chuckled and leaned back against the couch, “Let me take a look at her, if she is tough enough to put up with your bullshit, I’m sure I can teach her something.”

Mor smacked him again and I just grinned. Mor turned back to me and said, “So what is next? Other than teaching her and making sure she is safe, what are we going to do with her?” I could read between those lines easily enough – _when are you going to tell her_?

I picked up my cup of tea and took a long swallow before I answered, choosing to answer only the question she asked out loud. “I’m going to give her a choice, if she wants to help us or not. If she does, then we’ll figure out the rest from there, if she doesn’t, then I will help her find something she wants to do to stay occupied, and we’ll keep doing what we have been doing.”

Mor sighed at me but nodded in agreement.

“I want us all to have dinner tonight, up at the House, I would like to give her a chance to meet all of you since I’m certain that will be the deciding matter and not the difficulty of the job.” I grinned at them as they all respectively grinned, hissed or rolled their eyes at me.

But then I eyed each of them carefully and said quietly, “No fighting tonight. Feyre is… she is raw right now, I am not asking you all to coddle her – she needs, wants, a purpose and we can give that to her. But I am asking you, not as High Lord, but as a friend, not to shred her to pieces – and for you all not to be the monsters I know you can be to each other.” I managed another grin at them, they all glanced around at each other, silently agreeing, promising to behave and I relaxed slightly.

Trust Cassian to lighten the mood as he suddenly asked with a grumble, “Do I have to dress up?”

I laughed, “No, in fact, wear your Illyrian leathers if you don’t mind… both of you.” I nodded to Azriel who nodded in return, “I want her to see what we really are, who we are and what it is that we do.”

Mor beamed at this then asked brightly, “Can _I_ dress up?”

Cassian snorted.

I chuckled and shrugged, “Whatever makes you happy Mor.”

Her eyes glittered with mischief, “ _Whatever-“_

“Here we go…” Cassian muttered as I cut her off, “In regard to clothing Mor.”

She let out a dramatic sigh. Amren just shook her head at us all with mock disgust.

Smiling I looked around the group again, “Does anyone else have anything pressing? My plan was to stick close to the house today, in case she has any problems.”

They all looked at each other and then shook their heads, “Alright then. Azriel see what the Summer Court fleet looks like, check in with your Summer and Autumn court spies, then get back here for dinner tonight. The rest of you, go do whatever hard work it is I’m sure you do.” I flapped my hands at them in mock dismissal.

Cassian threw me a rude gesture and made his way out, grabbing another biscuit before he left. Azriel simply shifted into shadow, but Amren and Mor stayed in place. Mor glanced at Amren, considered then said, “I’ll go change for the day, I’ll be back down in a minute.” I saw the hint for what it was, _you two can talk, but you don’t get to escape me that easy, cousin._

She got up and breezed upstairs to the room she sometimes borrowed when she occasionally spent the night. I let out a sigh then turned my attention to Amren who arched a brow at me, “Well this is an interesting turn of events.”

I shrugged a little, “It’s not what I had planned but it is hardly a disaster.”

“Oh hardly,” she said with a touch of sarcasm, “Do you think she will help?” Her swirling silver eyes studied me minutely.

I tilted my head back, looking up at the ceiling as I considered the question. Two months ago, when I first told her about Hybern she had seemed… interested in helping. Protecting her human family mattered to her. I don’t think that had changed; I think Tamlin had just beat her down enough she felt like she didn’t have an option to do anything useful. Given the opportunity, the freedom, and the training… “Yes,” I said and looked back at her, “I do. And I know what you want to discuss, like I said, let’s talk about it after you meet her tonight.”

Amren tilted her head slightly, considering, then nodded again. “Very well.” She stood up and smiled briefly, “Hope looks good on you Rhysand.” Then she turned and walked out.

I stared after her, a little shocked. Hope? Was I hopeful? Perish the thought.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

Mor bounced back down the stairs as I was pouring another cup of tea, dressed in dark grey pants and a knitted forest green sweater, she looked like a pine tree, stolid and timeless. She glanced around the room to make sure we were alone, then walked over to sit on the end of the couch closest to me. “Rhys-” she began, and I cut her off.

“Mor, do not start, please. I know what you think, and why you think it, but it is not the right time.” I shook my head at her and took a sip of my tea. 

Her eyes turned reproachful, “Rhysand, you are the happiest I have seen you in close to _six months_ and that’s just with her being in this house for less than a _day_. Do not tell me it is not the right moment to tell her.”

I smiled at her, my lovely cousin, “And that Mor, is exactly why it is the wrong time to tell her.”

She frowned at me, confused.

“Because telling her right now would be for my benefit, and yes, maybe – _maybe –_ it might be good for her as well, or maybe it would be too much for her to handle on top of everything else she has just gone through. Think about it Mor, the love of her life, the male she was going to marry, the male she sacrificed and died for, just broke her trust, if not her heart. He locked her up and abandoned her, and he has been neglecting her for _months_ , and the longer she is here the more she is likely to realize that.” I shook my head, “I will not add to her burden right now. Maybe someday, when she doesn’t look half dead or flinch from the thought of being near strangers, but until then… just leave it be Mor. Let her get healthy, let her get her confidence back, let her taste freedom again.”

Mor stared at me for long moments before she leaned back into the couch. “She has a right to know the truth.”

I nodded, “She does. She also has a right to not be burdened by it.”

Her gaze darkened, “What makes you so sure it would be a burden?”

I looked away from her then and said, “It was for my mother.”

Mor leaned forward again and grabbed my hand, “Rhys - Rhys your parents were different people. Your father was an asshole and you are not _him._ You would never treat Feyre the way your father treated your mother. You love her Rhys.”

I swallowed once, then said softly, “But she does not love me. And a Mating bond would just complicate matters that are simple right now. And that is what she needs – simple. If she agrees to work with me, with us, I will be sending her into darkness and danger, the very least I can give her is simplicity in matters that have broken her heart.”

Mor let go of my hand and sat back with a huff of disgust, folding her arms across her stomach and staring at me.

“Let’s play a game Rhysand.” She said tartly, “Let’s say you tell her, but she rejects the bond and decides to leave – how is that any different than you not telling her? She could leave any day; she could go back to the Spring Court tomorrow. At least then she would _know_ and make an educated decision. And yes, your heart would break, but your heart will break if she left tomorrow and you hadn’t told her. But let’s say, just for the shits and giggles of it, you tell her, and she _picks you._ Hell, maybe even loves you, if you gave her a chance to. In one fell swoop you run the risk of mending two broken hearts – are those odds so damn bad?” 

I looked away from her, my heart was beating too fast and my thoughts were all jumbled, but I forced myself to focus, forced myself to think through the chaos and say simply, “And if I tell her, and it’s just one blow too many? You saw her yesterday Mor, she _imploded_. She is just barely functioning today. What if I told her and she couldn’t handle it? What if the guilt of being Mated to me, and not Tamlin ate at her? What if she decided it was a failure on her part? You want to play a game Mor? Prove to me that telling her will guarantee she will be ok on the other side – pick me, don’t pick me, I don’t care about that. Promise me it won’t break her, prove it to me, and I will march up those stairs right now and tell her.” I looked back at her, staring at her with eyes, my own hot with tears that I felt and refused to shed.

Mor was quiet for a moment before she said, “I can’t.”

I nodded with resignation but Mor leaned forward and stopped me with a look, “But I can promise you nothing would ever hurt her more than if she found out the truth, and that you had chosen not to tell her.”

My eyes widened and then narrowed, “Mor, you-“

She shot me a look of disgust, “I am not going to tell her, do you think so little of me? But I am not the only one who will ever know. Azriel already suspects, it won’t take Cassian long to catch up and you know how Amren is about things, she will figure it out. That would mean four people who will know when she doesn’t, and you can trust the four of us. What about anyone else? Rhys it _shows_ , spend enough time around you, and now that she is here, it isn’t too damn difficult to put the pieces together. Honestly, I suspect the only reason she hasn’t figured it out yet herself is that she wasn’t born fae and her mind still functions the way her human mind did. All it takes is one person to tell her and for her to think back through everything to figure out that you knew and chose not to tell her and I promise you,” she glared at me, “That will hurt her more than anything else you could possibly do.”

I sat frozen in my seat, staring at her, wavering… and then I heard the bed creak upstairs. The sound of her feet on the floor and of Nuala and Cerridwen climbing the stairs to go tend to her. The entire time Mor held my gaze, she did not flinch away.

Swallowing once I said quietly, “I’ll think about it.”

She let out a low sigh and shook her head, standing up. “You do that Rhys. See you tonight.” Then she turned and headed to the foyer, pulling a knee length black coat out of the closet and slipping it on before she headed out of the house, leaving me alone to my chaotic thoughts while I waited for Feyre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	2. Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand and Feyre arrive in Velaris  
> Ch. 2 - Feyre sees Velaris for the first time  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand takes Feyre through a tour of Velaris  
> Ch. 4 - Rhysand flies Feyre up to the House of Wind  
> Ch. 5 - The family dinner at the HOW / Feyre decides to work with them  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand returns Feyre to the town house after dinner  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand has a private meeting with Amren (New Scene)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

I remained sitting and waiting as Cerridwen came back down the stairs, heading to the kitchen, then went back up with a tray of food for Feyre, while Nuala must have stayed up there to help her with clothing. By the time they both were heading down the stairs again I had managed to settle my mind back to a state of relative calm and stood up to dust myself off. Walking out to the foyer, I opened the front door and stepped out into the antechamber, and opened the outer door, standing just to the right of it, turned slightly to watch the stairs, waiting for her.

Watching her come down the stairs was like watching sunlight filter through the trees. Graceful and delicate, and it didn’t matter that she still had smudges of black under her eyes, or that her skin was so pale it looked nearly bloodless, or that her hair was still dull instead of shiny… it didn’t matter because she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. And she took my breath away.

I tried to cover the dumb struck feeling I felt inside by inspecting her clothing: brown wool pants, and a knee-length sky-blue overcoat that pulled out the blue in her eyes, but it was the suede blue shoes that made me want to smile for some reason. “Those two certainly like to fuss,” I commented, and for once, I was glad they had; she looked resplendent.

But then I fell silent as I watched her turn her attention from me to the bright light beckoning her through the front door, watched as she walked towards it almost in a trance. I trailed along behind her, taking in the sight of her as she stepped into my city and swallowed the sight of it whole. I knew what she saw, the many fae who walked by in all manners of dress and style, the salt and citrus breeze, the clean, even streets and the well-kept houses lining them; the sound of children playing. And not one person stopped and stared, not at me, their High Lord, and not at her, the savior of Prythian. I knew what she saw, but all I saw was her as she stumbled to the gate and unlatched it, stepped out into the street and then froze as her gaze slide down the curve of the hill and out, out… to the sea.

No darkness or destruction, no monsters, no fear or despair.

Everything she had ever been told about the Night Court was disproved in this city alone. Yes, there was still the Hewn city, but it was its own entity. This city was the true heart of my land.

The only thing that otherwise ruined this moment for me, even though I was proud of her for doing so, was that her shield was back in place, protecting her mind and thus denying me insight into what she was thinking. I didn’t really mind though; it was enough to just watch her as she took it all in.

After a few more minutes she turned her eyes from the sea to look in the opposite direction, taking in the sight of the mountains that shielded one side of Velarias. Coming up behind her I spoke quietly, “The middle peak,” and flinched a little as she jumped and whirled, realizing she must have been so caught up with everything that she forgot I was here with her. I lifted a hand and continued along calmly however, pointing towards the mountains, towards the middle peak, the tallest, and said, “That’s my other home in this city. The House of Wind.” 

She turned again to look back up and we both caught the sight of two figures flying up towards it, likely Azriel and Cassian. “We’ll be dining there tonight,” I explained, and for a brief moment panic flashed through me at the thought of her meeting them all. 

She didn’t respond however, not to that, and turned her head back to the city, staring at it when she finally asked, “How?”

I thought back to the memories I had seen in her mind when we first arrived here in Velaris, of the villages burned and destroyed in the Spring Court and understood her question. “Luck,” was all I said.

“Luck?” She turned to look at me, “Yes, how lucky for you that the rest of Prythian was ravaged while your people, your city, remained safe.” Her voice was quiet, but there was no weakness in it, and I realized that it was anger that she felt – not just awe, but actual anger at me, at my city, for surviving.

I said nothing as I looked down at her and my throat tightened. _She doesn’t know_ , I told myself, _she doesn’t know what I did, what I gave, not really_. And she could not understand the choice I had to make in the seconds I had to make it. She did not know. Yet her words still cleaved through me.

“Did you even think for one moment,” she asked harshly, “to extend that _luck_ to anywhere else? Anyone else?”

I tried not to flinch from the accusations she flung at me, and instead responded as calmly as I could, “Other cities are known to the world. Velaris has remained secret beyond the borders of these lands for millennia. Amarantha did not touch it, because she did not know it existed. None of her beasts did. No one in the other courts know of its existence, either.”

“ _How?”_ she asked incredulously.

I glanced around once, then back to her and shrugged slightly, “Spells and wards and my ruthless, ruthless ancestors, who were willing to do anything to preserve a piece of goodness in our wretched world.”

“And when Amarantha came,” she said, spitting her name at me in her fury, “you didn’t _think_ to open this place as a refuge?”

My eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t stop my temper from slipping slightly, “When Amarantha came, I had to make some very hard choices, very quickly.”

She rolled her eyes at me and turned away to look back over the rolling hills leading out to the sea. “I’m assuming you _won’t_ tell me about it.”

I gritted my teeth slightly and thought, _not when you’re hurling accusations at me like hail from a storm._ “Now’s not the time for that conversation.”

I regretted saying that almost as soon as it left my lips, for the simple way her shoulders sagged with resignation – as though far too often she had been told that exact thing. But before I could change my mind and tell her, she suddenly asked, “So what is there that was worth saving at the cost of everyone else.”

I stared at her until she finally turned to meet my gaze, and something in her face shifted at the look I had on mine, I wasn’t sure how to describe it except to say she… believed. 

“Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	3. The Rainbow of Velaris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand and Feyre arrive in Velaris  
> Ch. 2 - Feyre sees Velaris for the first time  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand takes Feyre through a tour of Velaris  
> Ch. 4 - Rhysand flies Feyre up to the House of Wind  
> Ch. 5 - The family dinner at the HOW / Feyre decides to work with them  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand returns Feyre to the town house after dinner  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand has a private meeting with Amren (New Scene)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

Over the course of the next several hours I gave Feyre my city, though she had no idea. I didn’t just show her the sights, with each step we took I offered up the cobblestones, the buildings, the life that was Velaris.

For the most part she remained silent beside me – another fact I couldn’t get over, that she was willingly at my side – while I lead her through the streets, speaking only occasionally to explain something or point out a particular point of interest.

Velaris was built around the winding turquoise waters of the Sidra river, dividing the great marketplaces, or Palaces as they were actually called, to two on the northern shores and two on the southern. I led her through the Palace of Thread and Jewels first, it being the closest to the town house, and within it housed shops and stalls that boasted the finest in jewels and clothing, shoes and all the tools one could ever need to make the afore mentioned.

I watched her, while trying maybe a bit too hard to look like I wasn’t watching her, searching for a glimmer of that brilliance I had seen in her before. I had hoped that maybe the colors and textures of the market might spark something inside of her, draw out the painter inside of her… but there was nothing there. She took everything in, she didn’t turn away and leave or even hint that she wanted to, but she didn’t react to what she saw, or what I told her. It was as though she was a great yawning abyss, a black hole that drank in sight and sound, color and light, and had nothing to return to the world.

The sight of her like this made my chest tighten in pain so acute that sometimes I forgot how to breathe, having to turn away from her on the lie that I was looking for a gift. I would leave her for short minutes to enter a shop, just to hide how close _I_ was to shattering.

Towards one of the last shops of this Palace, I did pick out a piece of jewelry for Amren – keeping up the lie and providing an ample reward and thanks to my hardworking and dedicated Second. She had truly gone above and beyond over the last few months with her research, and I knew, or guessed, how badly we would need her and her ancient knowledge very shortly. A gift was more than deserved.

We next made our way to the Palace of Bone and Salt, while not as flashy as the previous market, it was no less interesting and colorful even. Stalls and paddocks filled with all manner of beasts, shops filled to the brim with meats and cheeses, fruits and vegetables, breads and spices – it was a world awash with scents and sounds. Fae milled about, hawking their produce and haggling their prices, while animals bayed and clucked adding to the symphony of song that was Velaris.

As we wandered through the market fae would occasionally stop to greet me – no one bowed but would rather offer me their hands in warm greeting – those whom I knew personally I greeted by name with warm smiles in return. I saw Feyre watching our interactions and there was something in her gaze that… that brought forth a new kind of grief. As though she had not had this kind of welcome ever, not in her mortal life, nor in her new life as a fae. That it had been far too rare for people to smile when they saw her or greet her as friend.

I knew from the thoughts I had heard from her hours earlier, that she dreaded the milling crowds that pressed in on her with praise for saving them, because all they reminded her of was those two fae she had killed – and all her self-loathing would flood out and engulf her. Not one fae approached her here or mentioned her time Under the Mountain.

Since I was actively scanning the surface thoughts of those around me, a safety measure that was pure instinct at this point in my life, I knew that most of the fae here didn’t even know who she was. They had not been Under the Mountain, and while they knew about what had happened there and celebrated the end of Amarantha’s reign of terror, they did not recognize her because they did not know her. Had they though… I did not think they would have swarmed her, just as they did not swarm me – and maybe that was just wishful thinking, but I believed it to be true.

Feyre knew none of this, as I did not tell her – what would have been the point? She would have been upset at the flashes of her thoughts that I had seen, and of how I tied it in with her behavior now. I did not want to upset her today, I wanted her to know peace and freedom, and so I kept quiet on the matter and continued to walk with her at my side.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

The late afternoon sun rolled lazily across the sky when I guided her towards the one place I had wanted to take her too all day – and the thought of bringing her here made my mouth go dry with anxiety. I knew she had not painted since her time Under the Mountain, I knew how she had avoided painting in the Spring Court, and how hard it had been when Tamlin kept encouraging her to partake in it again. I had no desire to force her to try and paint – that was a choice she had to make for herself. However, I wanted to show her that there was an entire pocket of creativity just waiting at her fingertips should those fingertips ever itch to try again.

Coming to the edge of the river she stopped dead at the sight of the artists’ quarter, her entire body seeming to freeze to the cobblestones beneath her feet. The shops were all brightly colored, boasting art galleries and pottery shops, art supply stores and flowered gardens – it was truly the hub of all creativity in the city.

“This is what Velaris is known for: the artist’s quarter.” I told her quietly, “You’ll find a hundred galleries, supply stores, potters’ compounds, sculpture gardens, and anything in between. They call it the Rainbow of Velaris.” I watched her gaze sweep the streets, taking it all in, and the many fae who savored the sights and celebrated life in art.

Swallowing once at her heavy silence I continued, “The performing artists – the musicians, the dancers, the actors – dwell on that hill right across the Sidra.” I said, gesturing towards where I was talking about, “You see the bit of gold glinting near the top? That’s one of the main theaters. There are five notable ones in the city, but that’s the most famous.” I saw her gaze drift to where I was pointing, “And then there are the smaller theaters, and the amphitheater on the sea cliffs…” I trailed off as I watched her eyes shift back to the artists’ quarter. I remained silent, watching and praying, I’m not sure what for, as she just stared and stared.

Finally, she whispered quietly, tiredly, as though she was being buried beneath heavy mud and struggling to dig her way out, “I’m tired.”

I felt as though that mud had begun to swallow me up as well, but I refused to sink beneath it – for Feyre I refused to sink. She needed a hand to hold, a life line to cling to – even if she didn’t ask for help, and I knew she never would, I would still hold myself ready to catch her.

Keeping my gaze on her I kept it light and simple, “We can come back another day. It’s almost time for dinner, anyway.”

We turned and began to make our way back to the townhouse, winding and weaving our way through the streets and evening crowds – fae heading home from work, to shops for their last purchases of the day, or restaurants for dinner with their friends and families. Truly Velaris was a living breathing beacon of hope and happiness, a place filled with people who were wholly satisfied, able to enjoy the simple things, like pausing to enjoy the radiant sunset spreading across the horizon.

It was as though that sunset shook something loose in Feyre however, and I felt her shields ripple and drop just enough for her thoughts and her feelings to leak down the bond. Anger, such all-encompassing anger, and grief and soul devouring guilt… and it was all turning outwards, expanding quickly, summoning up her power from deep within her, propelling it up and out until it nearly sparkled over her skin. I could _feel_ it in her and could feel she was close to exploding with it all again – and the feeling of it was terrifying and oh so beautiful, radiant even.

I could not let her release it here however, most especially not in such a raw form – the damage it would do to the fae around us could be catastrophic, and there is no telling what it might do to her if tore free again – her powers were not getting any less powerful as they came out of her time and time again.

I readied my mind, just in case, to reach into hers and make her sleep if I had to – I wouldn’t hurt her, just put her mind into a gentle slumber – but only if I _absolutely_ had to. First though, I spoke to her, in a quiet murmur, “Easy…”

She whipped her head around to stare at me, her breathing ragged, the power sparkling in her eyes and it bewitched me – no, _she_ bewitched me, body and soul.

I had to clamp down on my emotions however, I did not want to feed the fury building up inside of her. “My people are blameless.”

And they were, absolutely and irrefutably blameless – just because they had escaped the horror Under the Mountain did not make them guilty of that horror and I would not, could not let them be punished for that.

And maybe Feyre sensed some of what I thought, or maybe my calm demeanor helped her mind process what she was doing, because nearly instantly her power dispersed inside of her right along with her rage. Her shoulders sagged and her head began to hang, as though without that rage there was nothing left to keep her upright. As though in confirmation to that, she spoke quietly, “I’m tired.”

I swallowed and then nodded, leading her on, saying in distraction, “Tomorrow night, we’ll go for a walk. Velaris is lovely in the day, but it was built to be viewed after dark.”

She said nothing for several minutes, but then finally asked, “Who, exactly, is going to be at this dinner?”

We turned onto a steep street and began climbing it, I went slowly, knowing how hard it was for her to move on a flat surface with her body as worn down as it was, that this would be more difficult – I knew she could do it, she could do anything, but it didn’t mean I had to push her too hard.

“My Inner Circle,” I said as I listened to her breathing grow ragged again with the strain, “I want you to meet them before you decide if this is a place you’d like to stay. If you’d like to work with me, and thus work with them. Mor, you’ve met, but the three others-“

We reached the top and she fair panted as we paused a moment, letting her catch her breath before she stated, “The ones who came this afternoon.”

I nodded, “Cassian, Azriel, and Amren.”

We continued on as she asked, “Who are they?”

I didn’t want to tell her too much yet, I wanted her to meet them first, to let her make her own opinions about my family without too much interference on my part, however there were things I should… warn her about.

“There are tiers,” I began, almost cautiously, “within our circle. Amren is my second in command.”

Feyre looked startled, looking up at me with shock, and I arched a brow at her with a hint of a smile.

“Yes. And Mor is my Third. Only a fool would think my Illyrian warriors were the apex predators in our circle,” I teased her lightly, then went on. “You’ll see what I mean when you meet Amren. She looks High Fae, but something different prowls beneath her skin.” I paused in my explanation as a passing couple bowed their heads to me, to us, in merry greeting and I smiled warmly in return.

A moment later I continued, “She might be older than this city, but she’s vain, and likes to horde her baubles and belongings like a firedrake in a cave. So… be on your guard. You both have tempers when provoked, and I don’t want you to have any surprises tonight.”

Feyre glanced at me in mild alarm and equal curiosity, “So if we get into a brawl and I rip off her necklace, she’ll roast and eat me.”

I chuckled at the image, “No,” I said jovially, “Amren would do far, far worse things than that. The last time Amren and Mor got into it, they left my favorite mountain retreat in cinders.” That fight had been bad, and it had left me more than a little angry. I had sent them to the opposite sides of the Night Court to cool down for several months. Cassian and Azriel had laid bets if there would be a second round when they finally returned back to Velaris – there hadn’t been, but the tension had been thick for a while following the entire debacle.

I arched a brow at her, “For what it’s worth, I’m the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history, and merely interrupting Amren is something _I’ve_ only done once in the past century.”

She stopped and stared at me for a moment, and there was no fear in her face, there was… nothing. Empty. She turned and began to take another step towards the house when I heard the thought leak down the bond…

_Maybe it’d be a mercy to be ended…_

I reacted without thinking, reaching up to grip her face – gently, but firmly enough to make her look at me, some absent part of my mind both thrilled at touching her face, and horrified at how prominent her cheek bones were beneath my hand. Leaning towards her however, I said harshly, “Don’t you _ever_ think that,” I hissed, livid, “ _Not for one damned moment.”_

And then something… happened. I felt the bond between us go taut with tension, and her shields drop… and then, she was _inside_ my mind, past my own shields – which should not be possible – and looking out through my eyes at herself. And the shock from what she felt when she saw herself radiated through me, through her… Then almost as soon as it happened, it ended, and she was out of my mind and back in hers and the bond between us eased and went quiet again.

And she was suddenly raging, at me, like I had done that to her – “Was that a trick?” 

I was shaken, to my core – she should not have been able to do that, what… what else could this amazing woman do? Swallowing I said hoarsely, “No…” Then tilted my head to the side a bit, studying her, “How did you get through it? My shield?”

She just stared at me with no comprehension of what I was asking her – it hadn’t been intentional then. Her powers were acting out of pure instinct – and if they could do _this_ with no training… my heart raced at the possibilities.

I dropped my hand from her face and reached out to grip her elbow gently, but holding her in place with my touch, “How many other minds have you accidentally slipped into?”

Her thoughts leaked again, fueled by guilt… A faint memory, _Lucien_

“ _Lucien?_ ” I let out a sudden, short laugh. “What a miserable place to be.”

A low snarl rippled out of her, _“Do not_ go into my head.”

I smirked at her, “Your shield is down. You might as well have been shouting his name at me.” 

I felt her haul it back up with a mental growl of frustration, at me, the world and life itself it seemed like.

Studying her face, I contemplated out loud, “Perhaps you having my power…” I trailed off for a moment, sorting through the facts and theories swirling in my mind, then snorted as the thoughts lined up and came to an obvious conclusion. “It’d make sense, of course, if the power came from _me_ – if my own shield sometimes mistook _you_ for me and let you slip past. Fascinating.” And exciting – this could make things go much smoother if she decided to work with us…

She glared at me, “Take your power back. I don’t want it.”

I as smiled at her slyly, “It doesn’t work that way. The power is bound to your life. The only way to get it back would be to kill you. And since I like your company, I’ll pass on the offer.”

We continued on for a few steps in silence, while I had no idea what she was thinking – her shield was solid once again – my own thoughts became concerned as I regarded that shield. It had been down again, for a considerable amount of time. That was _not_ good.

“You need to be vigilant about keeping your mental wards up.” I told her quietly but firmly, “Especially now that you’ve seen Velaris. If you ever go somewhere else, beyond these lands, and someone slipped into your mind and saw this place…” My jaw tightened as the horror of what could happen to my city flashed through my thoughts. “We’re called daemati – those of us who can walk into another person’s mind as if we were going from one room to another.” I explained to her, “We’re rare, and the trait appears as the Mother wills it, but there are enough of us scattered through the world that many – mostly those in positions of influence – extensively train against our skill set. If you were to ever encounter a daemati without those shields up, Feyre, they’d take whatever they wanted. A more powerful one could make you their unwitting slave, make you do whatever they wanted, and you’d never know it. My lands remain mystery enough that some would find you, among other things, a highly valuable source of information.” I clenched my fists in my pockets at the thought of anyone ever doing that to her, of her ever being a prisoner again, a pet… Not to mention what it would mean for my city, for my lands.

Feyre took in what I said, but I guessed some of that earlier rage still simmered beneath the surface, because she deflected from what I said to say instead, “I take it that in a potential war with Hybern, the king’s armies wouldn’t even know to strike here?” She gestured to the city around us, “So what – your pampered people… those who can’t shield their minds – they get your protection _and_ don’t have to fight while the rest of us bleed?” 

Her words hit me like a blow to the gut, I was actually surprised I didn’t double over. She sped up her pace, giving me no chance to respond, and avoiding the pained look that crossed my face. I followed after her, staying close but a few steps behind her. I kept my eyes on the ground as we walked; I knew the decision I had made to protect this city had been the best decision I could have made with the time I had to make it, but… all of the people outside of Velaris, all of the small cities and pockets of life – they had been left vulnerable, easy prey for Amarantha to pick off, and there had been nothing I could do to save them. Even Hewn city had suffered nearly overwhelming loss due to my decisions. I had picked the greater good of protecting this city, this thriving bastion of life, over those that had been left outside – and their suffering, their deaths, would _always_ weigh heavily on me.

Had I been unable to shield Velaris, I know my people would have risen up to fight back against Amarantha – and they would have died by the hundreds. Just like they had in Summer and Winter court when they had rebelled. Was I selfish for forcing this city to stay out of the fight? Was I cruel in having not offered its safe haven to others, when it would have ultimately doomed the city?

The doubts and self-loathing ate at me, and I knew they always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	4. The House of Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand and Feyre arrive in Velaris  
> Ch. 2 - Feyre sees Velaris for the first time  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand takes Feyre through a tour of Velaris  
> Ch. 4 - Rhysand flies Feyre up to the House of Wind  
> Ch. 5 - The family dinner at the HOW / Feyre decides to work with them  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand returns Feyre to the town house after dinner  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand has a private meeting with Amren (New Scene)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

Back at the house, Feyre went straight up to her room and closed the door soundly behind her. I stood at the foot of the stairs and stared up with such quiet sadness that I thought surely, I would be swallowed whole by it.

Having heard us enter, Nuala and Cerridwen both appeared from the kitchen, walking towards me. I nodded at them and they bowed their heads in unison.

“May we get you anything, High Lord?” Nuala asked quietly.

I shook my head and gestured, “Please just tend to Feyre, thank you.”

They bowed their heads again and headed upstairs to knock on her door and were let in a moment later.

I walked into the sitting room and over to the side board, picking up a bottle of whiskey, making ready to pour myself a glass – then stopped, staring at the bottle in my hand.

The empty, gaping hole inside of me ached. It throbbed where Feyre’s words had beat against it. The whiskey could dull that ache – it had done so before, but staring at the bottle I realized something… the ache was not something I could run from. I had been trying to, trying to stay ahead of it, afraid of facing it completely. But the ache inside of me was like a muscle that hadn’t been used for far too long and then suddenly put to labor – it would ease the more it was used, it would ease if you embraced the labor necessary to strengthen the muscle.

The hole inside of me might never close, there might never be anything to fill it… Feyre… Feyre could, I knew instinctually that she would fit it perfectly, but I could not put that burden on her. This left me with a choice I had to make, to face the ache, or to run from it and know that I would never be able to run far enough or fast enough.

I stared hard at the bottle, and then sat it back down. I made my way upstairs and to my bedroom to change for the evening, each step hard and weary, but confident in my decision.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I had finished with dressing for the evening before Feyre, and so took to the roof top to wait, savoring the night sky above me. I’m not sure why, but I had an inkling Feyre would dress up for dinner tonight – not because it would have been her first choice, but all she had to go on was how Spring Court functioned and they had always been old fashioned in their style and mannerisms.

I didn’t want her to feel out of place, all though I knew Mor would be dressing up, and likely so would Amren – and no doubt she would be sporting the piece of jewelry I had purchased for her in the market today, and paid to have delivered to her flat. But I wanted to stand in solidarity with Feyre, and also my formal attire was another form of battle armor, not unlike my Illyrian armor.

Tonight was going to be another sort of battle – one of personalities, and while my family was many thing, _mild_ was not one of them. And Feyre was dry tinder.

I spread my wings, stretching them wide, then took a deep breath of the chill night air, feeling my lungs expand to hold it… and then released it as I heard the door to the roof open, and turned to see Feyre step out onto the roof with me, my wings drawing in tight as I saw her…

And forgot entirely how to breath. How to move. How to think.

She had chosen a midnight-blue dress, heavy with rich velvet, that fell to the floor and pooled at her feet with a short train, the long skin tight sleeves clinging to her arms – the tattoo on her left arm only visible on her hand, and a neckline that plunged down… and down. I felt my body burn as I tried not to follow the line of the fabric that slid revealingly between her breasts… tried, and utterly failed. Even the coat she had on over the dress did not diminish how unspeakably gorgeous she was…

She was still too thin, Mother protect me, so terribly thin, but to see her clothed in finery, even if she did look uncertain in her choice of clothing – and the choice to go tonight for that matter – she was stunning.

The cool night air was frosty against my burning skin as I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat and remember how to breathe again.

Failing at breathing for the most part, and any semblance of words, I stretched my wings out and opened my arms to her – an open invitation. Her choice.

She eyed me, then the wings and slid her hands into the pockets of her overcoat and stood stiffly. “Absolutely not.”

I smirked lightly and crossed my arms over my chest, eying her.

She did not back down and said with finality, “No.”

I smirked wider and explained, “The House of Wind is warded against people winnowing inside – exactly like this house. Even against High Lords. Don’t ask me why, or who did it. But the option is either walk up the ten thousand steps, which I _really_ do not feel like doing Feyre, or fly in.” I opened my arms to her again and gave her a slow grin, “I promise I won’t drop you.”

I watched her gaze drop to look herself over, as though sincerely regretting her choice in attire – a regret I did not share even remotely. She looked back up at me and argued, “The wind will rip the gown right off.”

The mere thought of that made me grin in wicked delight… if only. My skin felt tight across my bones, still burning.

She glared at me and seethed, “I’ll take the stairs,” then turned to head for the door.

I snapped my right wing out, blocking her hasty retreat.

She stepped back in shock and complained further, “Nuala spent an hour on my hair.”

I wanted to laugh, but all I could think is how I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, let it down and let the brown-gold waves unfurl over my hands, silky and so soft…

Swallowing again, I began to curve my wing slowly, herding her closer towards me as I told her quietly, “I promise I won’t let the wind destroy your hair.” And for one instant my hand lifted, as though of its own accord, to touch one of her curls… and then dropped as though it had been burned when I reminded myself, she would not welcome my touch, not in a manner that was far too intimate.

She was facing me now, still frowning with uncertainty, “If I’m to decide whether I want to work against Hybern with you – with your Inner Circle, can’t we just… meet here?”

I smiled and coaxed her, “They’re all up there already. And besides, the House of Wind has enough space that I won’t feel like chucking them all off the mountain.”

She swallowed, glancing up at the mountain to study it for a moment, before looking back at me, “You mean, that this town house is too small, and their personalities are too big, and you’re worried I might lose it again?”

I drew her closer with my wing, within a foot or two now, “So what if I am?”

She tensed, though yielded another step, “I’m not some broken doll.”

I wanted to reach up and cup her face, gentler than I had this afternoon, to soothe her, to comfort her – to confirm that I did not believe she was that at all – she was so much more; broken yes, we both were, but she was no doll, no toy or pet to be played with and cast aside. She was a force to be reckoned with – and she didn’t believe that, despite her words, but I prayed in time she would know it for the truth it was.

“I know you’re not. But that doesn’t mean I’ll throw you to the wolves.” I smiled, “If you meant what you said about wanting to work with me to keep Hybern from these lands, keep the wall intact, I want you to meet my friends first. Decide on your own if it’s something you can handle. And I want this meeting to be on _my_ terms, not whenever they decide to ambush this house again.”

She continued to stall as she said sharply, “I didn’t know you even had friends.”

Of course I didn’t, not the High Lord of Night, the High Lord of Nightmares.

I smiled coolly, “You didn’t ask.”

She was close enough now that I reached out, sliding one hand around her waist lightly, similar to the way I touched her when we were going to winnow. This time however I curled my wings around her, encircling her only to feel her spine suddenly stiffen sharply and the thought lanced down her mind to me with fear –

_A cage._

I immediately snapped my wings open and back from her, freeing her from the sensation of being trapped. My arm tightened around her however – not to trap her, never that, but to comfort, to offer support.

Her spine relaxed only barely, but I pulled her slightly closer, bracing her for takeoff.

Leaning in a bit, I met her dark gaze, “You say the word tonight, and we come back here, no questions asked.” I watched the wind catch a curl of her hair and twist it around her neck, enticing me. I forced my gaze from it, back to her eyes and continued quietly. “And if you can’t stomach working with me, with them, then no questions asked on that, either. We can find some other way for you to live here, be fulfilled, regardless of what I need.” I tightened my grip on her just a little more, “It’s your choice, Feyre.”

She studied my gaze for a moment, then looked over my shoulder to my wings, trailing her gaze over them in a way that felt almost like a caress. Finally, her body relaxed a little in my arms, making her decision to trust me enough to fly with me. “Please don’t drop me. And please don’t-“

The sheer joy that she chose to trust me in this at least sent such a wave of excitement racing through me that I couldn’t stop myself from launching into the sky before she could even finish – likely a foolish decision but there it was. I swung my other arm down, sweeping it up under her knees, and lifted her legs up, raising the arm around her waist to gently cup her around her back and ribs – trying hard not to focus on the fact that my fingers could count her ribs, and instead focused on how it felt to hold her close. The wind tore around us, but I slid a bubble of shadow up tightly around her, light and breathable – she likely didn’t notice it, but it cut out some of the wind, protecting her modesty and her hair. 

The city of Velaris soon fell below us into a glittering world of color and sound, and we were swallowed by the expanse of night sky, the stars beckoning us home. I kept us angled upwards for a bit more, then arched forwards, steering us towards the mountain peak that held the House of Wind – glowing faintly with its own welcoming lights.

She was so light in my arms, and she fit perfectly, as though my body had been made to hold hers. The scent of her was tantalizing – the smell of the pine on a frosty winter day, tinged with cold and something daring, underlined with a faint scent of paint that was just uniquely Feyre. To hold her like this, soaring through the sky – something that was more dear to me than my life, to share this with her… it freed something in me, a pain I had not known ached until it was let go and the relief was so substantial I could almost taste it. _My Feyre…_

Feeling the current shift, I swerved gently and caught an updraft, causing us to rise sharply and her to suddenly clutch at me tightly in panic, it made me laugh. Leaning my head towards her, my nose brushing the curling strands of her hair, I murmured into her ear, “I expected more screaming from you. I must not be trying hard enough.”

Her grip on me tightened as she hissed at me sharply, “ _Do not._ ”

I smiled and instead of teasing her further, chose instead to try and soothe her and share a piece of myself – she chose to trust me enough to fly with me, I could do no less and bare a piece of my soul to her.

“When I was a boy,” I said quietly to her, “I’d sneak out of the House of Wind by leaping out of my window – and I’d fly and fly all night, just making loops around the city, the river, the sea. Sometimes I still do.”

She listened and something about her seemed to relax, not her body, which was still tense as she clung to me… something within her soul I thought.

“Your parents must have been thrilled.” She finally said, a hint of amusement coloring the words.

“My father never knew – and my mother…” The pain of her loss hit me, even all these hundreds of years later, it still hit me just as painfully as it had the day I found them, and yet to speak of her to Feyre… it was soothing in its own way. “She was Illyrian,” I explained, “Some nights, when she caught me right as I leaped out the window, she’d scold me… and then jump out herself to fly with me until dawn.”

I could only see the side profile of Feyre’s face, but I could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on her lips, and it warmed me. “She sounds lovely,” she admitted.

The pain ached, but eased and I responded calmly, though with a touch of grief that never quite went away, “She was.”

Shifting slightly, my wings beat, and we caught another updraft, raising us up – not as sharply as before, but soon we were in direct line with one of the many broad balconies’ that dotted the House of Wind, though this one was gilded with lanterns lit gold and welcoming light. I brought us in, landing gently, and keeping my grip around her as I lowered her legs and felt them buckle slightly as she re-adjusted to standing on solid, unmoving ground.

She shook off my hold quickly though, and I let go, taking a step back from her and folding my wings in tightly against my back, out of the way. I in turn, watched as she walked to the railing and rested her hands upon it, staring out at the city of Velaris far below. I walked up to stand beside her, following her gaze to take in the city and felt the silence between us grow.

“Out with it,” I said finally.

She glanced at me and arched a brow.

I smiled encouragingly, “You say what’s on your mind – one thing. And I’ll say one, too.”

She shook her head and looked away.

I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “I’m thinking that I spent fifty years locked Under the Mountain, and I’d sometimes let myself dream of this place, but I never expected to see it again. I’m thinking that I wish I had been the one who slaughtered her. I’m thinking that if war comes, it might be a long while yet before I get to have a night like this.”

I turned my gaze to meet hers, which had lifted while I was talking to study me.

“Do you think war will be here that soon?” She asked hesitantly.

I grinned a little, “This was a no-questions-asked invitation. I told you… three things. Tell me one.”

She turned her gaze away, back to the city, and far beyond. And she opened… a tiny crack, a sliver of her soul to me.

“I’m thinking that I must have been a fool in love to allow myself to be shown so little of the Spring Court. I’m thinking there’s a great deal of that territory I was never allowed to see or hear about and maybe I would have lived in ignorance forever like some pet. I’m thinking…” her voice fell and choked around the words for a moment, but all I could do was stare and pray – _don’t stop. Let it out…_ “I’m thinking that I was a lonely, hopeless person, and I might have fallen in love with the first thing that showed me a hint of kindness and safety. And I’m thinking maybe he knew that – maybe not actively, but maybe _he_ wanted to be that person for someone. And maybe that worked for who I was before. Maybe it doesn’t work for who – what I am now.” 

I ached for her. Body and soul, heart and mind. To have reached this point already – it was more than I could have ever hoped for – and had equally dreaded. To see how restricted she had been, how her life, her soul, had been choked off, hour by hour. What chance did I stand? She was realizing what love had done to her.

I wanted to reach out to her, offer her my love, but love had abandoned her, had locked her in a house and thrown away the key – my love would never do that to her, my love wanted to offer her the sky and the freedom that was her inherit right. She would not accept my love, she would not accept me – not after what had been done to her, I was sure of it. All that I could really offer her was friendship without expectations, a solid wall to lean against as she picked herself back up, piece by piece. It would be enough.

It would have to be.

I smiled at her and tried not to let my emptiness become apparent, “That was five. Looks like I owe you two thoughts.”

Hearing sound behind us, I turned my head and saw Azriel and Cassian approaching the double glass doors behind us and said to her, “Later.”

She turned when I did and faced my brothers, Cassian grinning like a fool – Azriel slightly less intimidating.

I merely let out a quiet sigh – tonight would be… interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	5. The Court of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand and Feyre arrive in Velaris  
> Ch. 2 - Feyre sees Velaris for the first time  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand takes Feyre through a tour of Velaris  
> Ch. 4 - Rhysand flies Feyre up to the House of Wind  
> Ch. 5 - The family dinner at the HOW / Feyre decides to work with them  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand returns Feyre to the town house after dinner  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand has a private meeting with Amren (New Scene)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

Taking a breath, trying to prepare myself for this new battle I was sure tonight would be – not of weapons and blood, but of personalities and hope. Giving Feyre one last glance, I made my way towards my brothers and greeted them with a smile, though Cassian only spared me a brief glance before returning his gaze to Feyre, sizing her up. He had never seen her before – technically neither had Azriel, but I was certain he had checked on her, not just for my sanity but for his own need to ensure she was not a threat.

Cassian’s gaze was almost feral in playful delight – nothing about tonight concerned him, of course not. Feyre was something new, an unknown challenge and he was always one to embrace a challenge. I only hoped that Feyre would leave something of him left standing after dinner – he was my General. I grinned at the thought and Azriel just arched a brow at me. I didn’t explain.

At Cassian’s low chuckle, I glanced at Feyre as he teased, “Come on, Feyre. We don’t bite. Unless you ask us to.”

As though his words freed her feet, she began to walk towards us cautiously.

I smirked slightly and slid my hands into my pockets, “The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer.”

Azriel snorted.

Once Feyre was close enough to actually see their faces, no longer wreathed in shadows, she froze for a second – eyes wide. Not with fear, no instead it was almost… appreciation? I glanced at my brothers, considering. They were attractive, all Illyrians were, pig-headed, backward bastards that they were, they were all very attractive.

My gut twisted slightly at the thought… if she was attracted… Azriel likely would not pursue her, he was too focused on Mor – he had taken lovers over the years, but he wouldn’t risk tension between us, not when all he really wanted was Mor. Cassian though… I did not think he would initiate anything with Feyre, he wasn’t that much of an asshole, but if she did…

If she did, it was her choice, and his, and I would accept it. She was not mine, Mate or no, she belonged solely to herself. And if he could heal something inside of her… I could be, would be grateful to him.

As though Cassian could hear, or at least feel the tenor of my thoughts, he turned his gaze to appraise me – sizing me up, not just my thoughts or demeanor, but my clothing as well – as though he knew I dressed up just to match Feyre. Smirking at me slightly he said, “So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor Feyre dress up, too.” And then he winked at me… and some of my growing tension eased out.

He knew – not that she was my Mate, but Mor’s earlier argument flashed through my mind and I had to agree with her that he would figure it out soon enough. No, what he knew was that Feyre was precious to me – and he might tease and playfully proposition her, but that he would never do that to me, whole heartedly pursue Feyre, or accept her invitation were she to give one. He would not hurt me that way, and I loved him for it. I gave him the barest hint of a smile, in heart felt gratitude. He just grinned.

I returned my attention to Feyre as she seemed not to have observed our silent conversation, and was instead continuing with her appraisal of them, her gaze lingering on Azriel, a touch of fear on her features – he had that effect on people and tended to use it in good measure. I did not want her to fear him, he was deadly, but he was my brother, and he could be trusted with more than just her life.

I gestured to him and introduced him to her, “This is Azriel – my spymaster.”

She didn’t respond, except that I felt her shield thicken, as though bracing it against him – I nearly chuckled, I could be nothing but proud of her.

Azriel remained calm, as though he recognized her fear, understood and forgave it – and welcomed her none-the-less. “Welcome,” he said quietly, and extended one of his hands, brutally scarred and capped with a dark blue jewel on the gauntlet that wrapped around his hand.

She did not retreat, or even hesitate – her fear did not define who she was. Feyre lifted her own hand to meet his in greeting, though she said nothing in turn – her willingness to touch that scarred hand won her points in both his and Cassian’s minds I knew, without even having to look. She needed win no points from me, however. I knew the quality of her heart.

Lowering her hand after a moment, she took a step back towards my side – which both shocked and pleased me thoroughly. Glancing between the three of us she finally asked, “You’re brothers?”

I let out a low chuckle and clarified for her, “Brothers in the sense that all bastards are brothers of a sort.”

She paused, considering that, then looked to Cassian, and asked for more information, on the prowl for knowledge again. “And – you?”

He shrugged and tucked his wings in close before responding matter-of-factly, “I command Rhys’s armies.”

I felt her stiffen with surprise and then shift on her feet, as though agitated with what he said, though I wasn’t sure why. Cassian tracked her movements – he had taken what I asked him earlier to heart, he was observing her closely, making up his mind whether or not she could be trained in physical defense.

Azriel spoke up again, his voice tinged with humor, “Cassian also excels at pissing everyone off. Especially amongst our friends. So, as a friend of Rhysand… good luck.”

Feyre looked at him sharply, and I felt my breath catch at being called her friend… could I honestly consider myself that now? Did I dare to?

Cassian, choosing to live up to what Azriel said almost immediately, nudged Azriel out of the way, causing his wings to flare slightly as he balanced himself. “How the hell did you make that bone ladder in the Middengard Wyrm’s lair,” he asked a touch of taunting, “when you look like your own bones can snap at any moment?”

And they did, she looked so frail, like she was only the memory of Feyre in physical form. It made my heart feel heavy with sadness – but there was burgeoning hope that we could fix this, together, we could fix each other, maybe just as friends, but never alone. Never again.

I did not come to her defense however – she was not alone, but she had to fight her own battles, she had to chose to. A reason to live, to fight – she had to decide if it was worth it to swing back at Cassian’s taunting words.

She did not disappoint, she never did. Meeting his gaze solidly, and said back with a bite, “How the hell did _you_ manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?”

The return blow hit solid and Cassian tipped his head back to laugh with delight. Even Azriel’s brows raised in quiet approval.

I however, was still wary as I watched her – it might be too much, my family might be too much, what I planned to ask of her might very well break her. The earlier anxiety I felt about tonight was creeping back in, we hadn’t even made it to dinner yet, and already the first blows had landed – she had countered beautifully, and yet…

She met my gaze, I could see a question there, but it faded as her brows furrowed while she studied my face, as though trying to read my thoughts.

Before she could ask, and always in the nick of time, Mor breezed out onto the balcony, past my brothers and straight to Feyre’s side with a brilliant smile solely for her. “If Cassian’s howling,” she said cheerfully, “I hope it means Feyre told him to shut his fat mouth.”

Cassian grinned at her, his feet bracing in a stance of challenge, of preparing for a fight – and I winced slightly, trying to catch his gaze, to remind him of his promise…

Azriel however seemed to freeze, even the shadows swirling around him seemed to fall still for a moment as he drank in the sight of Mor. And Feyre noticed – of course she did, she was a huntress, she was born to notice the fine details.

Mor did look lovely, dressed in a long flowing gown of red, accented with gold cuffs and gold combs of twisting leaves in her unbound, long hair. Her choice was tastefully elegant, as always – and yet it made me flinch slightly – red was not a color Feyre handled well.

But for once, it was almost as though she didn’t notice, or at least did not associate the red with blood, or even Amarantha – all she saw was Mor and her welcoming, friendly smile. My heart eased with happiness. In fact, Feyre almost looked relieved to see Mor dressed up as she was herself.

Cassian, having eased his stance slightly, as though remembering but still in the mood to play, said teasingly, “I don’t know why I ever forget you two are related.” He jerked his chin at me mockingly, “You two and your clothes.”

I smirked a little as Mor sketched him a bow and said with equal playfulness, “I wanted to impress Feyre.” She mocked him lightly, “You could have at least bothered to comb your hair.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, “Unlike some people, I have better things to do with my time than sit in front of the mirror for hours.”

Mor tossed her hair over her shoulder and her voice took on more of a bite, “Yes, since swaggering around Velaris-“

Azriel stepped in with a quiet warning, extending his wings in an effort to block and herd the two of them into the dining room and away from Feyre – shrouding her from the potential fight between the two of them. “We have company,” he reminded them quietly.

Mor, remembering herself and her promise, reached up to pat Azriel’s shoulder lightly as she dodged his outstretched wing, “Relax Az – no fighting tonight. We promised Rhys.” Her gaze flicked to Cassian, to offer him parlay and he nodded, with a mild grin.

Mor then turned, lifting a hand and gesturing to Feyre and encouraging her to join Mor as she led her into the dining room. “Come sit with me while they drink.”

Feyre didn’t hesitate exactly, but I felt her body shift, as though she wanted to look at me, to confirm everything was safe, but she refused to let herself do it. Pride I supposed. Had she looked I would have nodded and encouraged her to follow Mor, but it was unnecessary as she followed her of her own accord.

But then Mor hesitated, And said with sudden chagrin, “Unless you’d rather drink.” Giving Feyre the choice, but then she said, as though unable to hold back her excitement over spending time with her new friend – and even if Feyre did not consider Mor a friend, my cousin considered Feyre one and would continue to welcome her thusly. “But I want you to myself before Amren hogs you-“ 

As though her words were a spell of summoning, the interior dining room doors opened as though pushed by a gentle wind, exposing the inner crimson halls, draped in shadows.

And into the room walked Amren, tiny even by normal female standards, delicate… and dangerous. There was something about her, something primal, that warned just how dangerous this tiny female was, how the power just below the surface could flatten the entire city if she were of a mind to do so. 

She had been my friend for many, many years, and my teacher as well, helping me to understand and control my power in order that it would not overwhelm me. When I had risen to the role of High Lord it had taken less than a minute to consider her for my First, though I hadn’t expected her to accept – I didn’t imagine the work would truly interest her.

She had accepted though, and has never seemed to second guess her decision, and I have been grateful ever since. What I would have done without her insight and aid, I’m not sure. During my time Under the Mountain she had held it all together, not just the city, but my Inner Circle, she had been the reason that neither had fallen.

Now though, my eyes were focused on Feyre as she took Amren in, and I could see how her body tensed as that primal fear we all felt – though had learned to ignore – awoke inside of her. She did not run though, did not demand we leave, but she did not look away from her. A huntress who had come face to face with a dangerous monster and knew that fleeing would leave her exposed – facing it was her only real option.

Mor let out a low groan, as though all her grand plans had been smashed to ruin and slumped into a chair near the end of the table, pouring herself a glass of wine. Cassian slid into a seat across for her and motioned for the bottle of wine. Azriel and I remained standing, off to the side, and observing, a level of tense uncertainty coating the room in a fine invisible mist.

Amren, dressed in a fashion similar to that of the Night Court, but in but in rich grays, with pearls gracing her neck, ears, fingers and wrists in a mixture of white and gray and black. Pinned to her tunic was the gift I had purchased her earlier in the day, a delicate silver-and-pearl brooch that gleamed in the pale candle light. She had yet to even glance at Feyre, her gaze remaining on me as she gestured to the brooch and said smoothly, “Your taste remains excellent, High Lord. Thank you.”

Her words ordered the roles in the room – Feyre could not but feel Amren’s power and how it far surpassed mine, but even though I did not enforce rank in my Inner Circle, unless absolutely necessary, Amren had displayed it to her clearly. I was High Lord, and Amren served at my pleasure. It was tactfully done.

I smiled at Amren and waved my hand, bowing my head in a gesture of gratitude to her, “It suits you, Amren.”

She didn’t laugh or even smile, but her words held amusement in them as she said, “Everything suits me.” Finally she turned her gaze to Feyre, and stared at her - through her, studying her, _knowing_ her in a way even I could not attest to.

Silence.

We all waited and watched, even Cassian was silent and patient.

Amren took a step closer to Feyre and sniffed delicately at her.

Feyre did not retreat, and instead lifted her chin, defiant in the face of danger. Here was the woman who had flung a bone at Amarantha, and it made my heart race at seeing that brilliance begin to radiate out of her again, dim but unmistakable.

Amren spoke after another interminable minute, “So there are two of us now.”

Feyre’s brows narrowed in silent question.

Amren’s red painted lips quirked in what was almost a smile, “We who were born something else – and found ourselves trapped in new, strange bodies.” Another pause, then Amren jerked her chin at Feyre, gesturing for her to sit beside Mor, then took the seat across the table from Feyre – a choice I could tell eased some of the tension in Feyre’s shoulders as she sat.

Azriel and I finally moved, filtering on the table and choosing our seats – I sat beside Feyre, and Azriel settled on the other side of Amren. The two people Feyre knew, or at least had spent some time with, and who she felt most comfortable with, across from the three who were unknowns. The battle lines were drawn.

I saw Feyre glance to the empty chair at the head of the table and her brows drew slightly, not with concern but with confusion. I rarely took the head of a table, unless the appearance of control was necessary – these people were my family, and I preferred to be among them rather than above them.

Feyre’s gaze shifted back to Amren’s, who had not wavered from her study of Feyre, as she spoke again, “Though there _is_ a third.” Amren’s gaze shifted to me with curiosity now, “I don’t think you’ve heard from Miryam in… centuries. Interesting.”

Cassian’s patience at the quiet tension had waned and he rolled his eyes, “Please just get to the point, Amren. I’m hungry.”

The tension shifted as Amren slid her attention to Cassian and Mor choked on her wine, coughing softly. Azriel, on Amren’s other side, monitored them both extremely closely, the shadows swirling around him, whispering to him.

Amren’s eyes narrowed slightly, “No one warming your bed right now, Cassian? It must be _so_ hard to be an Illyrian and have no thoughts in your head save for those about your favorite part.”

Cassian, unfazed by the subtle threat in her words, just grinned at her, “You know I’m always happy to tangle in the sheets with you Amren.” He leaned towards her slightly and arched a brow in playful taunting, “I know how much you enjoy Illyrian…”

I saw Feyre tensing and leaning away from the two of them and decided to cut in and put a stop to their bickering as Amren’s smile became dangerous, “Myriam and Drakon are doing well as far as I’ve heard.” Actually, I hadn’t heard anything from them in hundreds of years… and I hadn’t gone looking for them either – all they had wanted was peace and isolation, and I had promised myself to let them have it. Shifting the topic from them I asked Amren instead, “And what, exactly, is interesting?”

This was what I really wanted to know – Amren’s ability to read a person went far and beyond what their exterior showed, it went even deeper than their power signature, it was though she could read their soul. I had seen Feyre’s soul, and known it to be beautiful, but I could not read it, not in the way Amren could, as though it were merely a book to translate.

Amren’s head tilted, her attention returning to Feyre for a moment before she continued with her earlier train of thought. “Only once before was a human Made into an immortal. Interesting that it should happen again right as all the ancient players have returned. But Myriam was gifted long life – not a new body. And you, girl…” She sniffed the air again and froze for just a second before her silver gaze flashed to meet mine in surprise. She had scented it, the bond, the Mating bond and my body tensed, my eyes darkening as I nodded to affirm it, and simultaneously tell her silently to say not a word about it.

She studied me for a moment, then continued, as though she had not just unlocked a secret trove of unimaginable wealth. “Your very blood, your veins, your bones were Made.” She looked back to Feyre, explaining, “A mortal soul in an immortal body.”

Another long moment of silence as we all processed what that might mean, and I could feel Feyre hunch slightly at the weight of what it did mean for her, what the reality of that had meant since the moment she had awoken as high fae.

Suddenly, and bless her for it, Mor announced, “I’m hungry.” Then snapped a finger, and plates piled with savory roast chicken, greens and bread appeared in front of is, along with cutlery and napkins. The food was simple, and smelled delicious – a good choice on Mor’s part, a meal that would not overwhelm.

Mor leaned forward, grabbing her napkin and draping it over her lap, then picked up her fork and chattered on, “Amren and Rhys can talk all night and bore us to tears, so don’t bother waiting for them to dig in.”

I raised a brow at her in amusement – she didn’t notice.

“I asked Rhys if _I_ could take you to dinner, just the two of us and he said you wouldn’t want that.” She cast a look to Feyre that was almost pouty, “But honestly – would you rather spend time with those two ancient bores, or me?” She then speared a bit of greens and lifted it to her mouth to chew on.

“For someone who is the same age as me, you seem to forget-“ I began in an amused drawl before I was suddenly cut off. 

Mor swallowed her bite just before interrupting me, “Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk,” pausing to glance at Cassian who had opened his mouth to comment, “Can’t we eat-eat-eat, and _then_ talk.”

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle at Mor’s comments and picked up his fork to begin digging in.

I followed suit with continued amusement, noticing that Feyre waited until I had taken my first bite before beginning on her meal – a fact that made me slightly angry. There was still an element of her that was almost submissive, as though she believed she did not have the freedom to put herself forward. It upset me.

But she dug into the food afterwards, as if she had never tasted anything better, and when Mor poured her a glass of wine, she drank deep and seemed to savor the rich flavors of mingled berries and honey.

After a moment or two of mutual munching around the table, Mor continued with her earlier train of thought, “Don’t let these old busybodies boss you around.” I glanced at Mor, and she met my gaze for only a second and I knew she had said that for a purpose, as though to remind Feyre that she had a voice, and a right to stand up for herself, to say no or to demand response.

Mor had faced many of the same trials Feyre was now going through, she understood her and was reaching out to her over the chasm of Feyre’s grief and guilt, offering Feyre her own hard learned lessons as a guide so that she might build her own framework of healing. I had never been so grateful for my cousin as I was at that moment.

Cassian however, chose to take what Mor said and twist it away from serious and into humor, an innate trait of his, “Pot. Kettle. Black.” Then he shifted and frowned at Amren, and her untouched plate of food. “I always forget how bizzare that is,” he said as he unceremoniously picked up her plate and scooped half of its contents on his own plate with his fork, then passed it behind Amren to Azriel who took it with a slight frown. 

Azriel did not refrain from shifting the remaining contents of Amren’s plate onto his own, but he did say quietly, “I keep telling him to ask before he does that.”

Amren only flicked her fingers, and the empty plate disappeared from his fingers before she commented smoothly, “If you haven’t been able to train him after all these centuries, boy, I don’t think you’ll make any progress now.” She reached down and fiddled with the silverware left on the table, returning to her normal state of observation.

I took another bite of my food – going slower than the rest because so much of my time was spent in cautious observation of Feyre, and her reactions to everyone. Her next question halted me mid chew as I waited for her reaction.

“You don’t – eat?”

Amren smiled, with a touch of feral amusement, “Not this sort of food.”

Mor jumped in again, “Cauldron boil me,” she drank a long gulp of wine, “Can we _not?”_

Mother bless my cousin; she was a life saver. I swallowed my bite and suddenly chuckled – despite the tense nature of the meal, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. “Remind me to have family dinners more often.”

Feyre raised a brow at my comment, but said nothing and returned to studying my family, her eyes finally landing on and appraising the blue stones on Azriel’s gauntlets. He caught her gaze, and knowing what she was looking at and wondering, he raised both hands, to display for her better analysis the dark blue gems. “They’re called Siphons. They concentrate and focus our power in battle.”

Her gaze flickered between he and Cassian, seeming to note all at once their Illyrian leathers – unlike anything the rest of us wore, and that only they bore those stones.

I sat down my fork and explained to her, “The power of stronger Illyrians tends toward ‘incinerate now, ask questions later.’ They have little magical gifts beyond that – the killing power.”

Amren stepped in with a touch of scorn, “The gift of a violent, warmongering people.”

Azriel nodded in agreement and finally lowered his hands, while Cassian looked at him with a sharp gaze, his eyes narrowing. Azriel ignored him.

I watched their silent communication, but continued with my explanation for Feyre, “The Illyrians bred the power to give them advantage in battle, yes. The Siphons filter that raw power and allow Cassian and Azriel to transform it into something more subtle and varied – into shields and weapons, arrows and spears.” Feyre glanced at me, eyes light with a hungering curiosity, and I couldn’t help but smile slightly and chose to use an analogy I knew she would innately understand. “Imagine the difference between hurling a bucket of paint against the wall and using a brush. The Siphons allow for the magic to be nimble, precise on the battlefield – when its natural state lends itself toward something far messier and unrefined, and potentially dangerous when you’re fighting in tight quarters.”

Cassian finally looked away from Azriel and his darker expression eased as he flexed his fingers, admiring the red stones on his own gauntlet, “Doesn’t hurt that they also look damn good.”

Amren shook her head and muttered, “Illyrians.”

Cassian just bared his teeth in feral amusement, then took a long drink of his wine.

Feyre floundered for a minute, the curiosity there, but uncertain of what direction to go with it – too many options, too many questions. With hesitation she glanced back at Cassian and Azriel and stumbled, “How did you – I mean, how do you and Lord Cassian-“

And I winced as Cassian suddenly spewed his wine across the table, splattering Mor with it, who jumped up with a gasp and began cursing at him colorfully while grabbing up a napkin to try and mop up the mess.

Cassian, however, was now bowled over with laughter, and even Azriel had a hint of a smile on his lips. Mor finally gave up on mopping up the mess and instead waved a hand and sent the wine splattering from her dress to covering Cassian’s leathers instead – he didn’t notice, still laughing.

I found myself trying not to laugh as well, because I could feel Feyre withdraw into herself, as though afraid and I wanted to ease her fear - to let her know such actions would not earn her a reprimand, not from us. Quickly I went about reassuring her, saying with a playful drawl – not laughing at her, but letting her know she had done nothing wrong, “Cassian is not a lord.” I explained and gestured, “While we’re on the subject, neither is Azriel. Nor Amren. Mor, believe it or not, is the only pure-blooded, titled person in this room.”

And Mor would have given it all up for her freedom, had in fact done so in a way, and regretted little of it – at least not her decision to embrace her freedom, no matter the cost.

Feyre’s gaze met mine and I could read the question there. “I’m half-Illyrian,” I explained with a smile that might have been a grimace, “As good as a bastard where the thorough bred High Fae are concerned.”

She glanced between the three of us and asked, “So you – you three aren’t High Fae?”

Cassian’s laughing finally tapered off and he took a deep breath before he answered, “Illyrians are certainly not High Fae. And glad of it.” Reaching up he brushed some of his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear to show that it was round, instead of pointed – the best indicator of High Fae. But he continued on, with a bit of scorn in his voice, “And we’re not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We’re just – Illyrians. Considered expendable aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly and clarified, “Which is most of the time.”

Feyre went silent, as she seemed to organize her thoughts, and we all gave her the time, finishing our food and sipping on our wine. I felt her body tense however, as she glanced around at each of them, meeting their gazes, studying them as though looking for something vital.

“I didn’t see you Under the Mountain.”

Silence. And guilt. And anger. And bone breaking frustration. It leaked out of all of them, and Cassian was the worst, his face darkening with the emotions that had roiled in him from the moment I had warned them fifty years ago, before my powers were stolen.

Amren looked towards me, but my gaze was on Feyre as she waited.

Mor was the one who responded simply, “Because none of us were.”

I could feel Cassian’s gaze on me, with silent accusation – _why did you sacrifice yourself?_ It was the question I had felt burning inside of him since I had returned – he had restrained himself from hurling it at me, but only just. I hadn’t tried to get him to let it out – I hadn’t been strong enough to face it. My expression went cold now though, as I felt his eyes burning holes into me. I ignored him and met Feyre’s questioning gaze, “Amarantha didn’t know they existed. And when someone tried to tell her, they usually found themselves without the mind to do so.”

She shuddered. But... not with fear. I'm not sure what emotion she was feeling, but it most definitely was not fear. I was relieved.

I had wanted her to see us as we really were – and this was who I was. I was powerful, terrifyingly so, and I loved my people and my family, and there was absolutely _nothing_ I would not sacrifice to protect them. It might also be my weakness, but it was who I was and it is what I had always chosen to do; for those that I loved, I would sacrifice.

She asked me, almost in a whisper, “You truly kept this city, and all these people, hidden from her for fifty years?”

Cassian’s gaze finally dropped down to his plate as he tried to reign in his emotions, breathing a little hard.

It was Amren who spoke up this time, calm and assured, “We will continue to keep this city and these people hidden from our enemies for a great many more.”

Feyre leaned back and took us in, one at a time and all together, and what she saw I had no idea – not only was her shield thick and solid, but her face had gone blank, her eyes shadowed.

Mor, her voice raw with unshed emotions, caught Feyre’s attention as she said, “There is not one person in this city who is unaware of what went on outside these borders. Or of the cost.”

Something about what Mor said, or maybe it was how she said it, with her voice twisted up in emotions that had not found relief, not even with my return and the defeat of Amarantha, but whatever it was, it bolstered Feyre’s depleted soul. Her back straightened and her shoulders pushed back, and her gaze found and met Azriel”s as she took a leap of faith and asked the question that would lead her to her decision, to work with us or not. “How did you meet?”

Azriel held her gaze for a moment, but did not answer, instead turning to look at Cassian who – and I had not realized he had looked up from his plate at some point to look at me, his eyes still burning with guilt, but also with love, and I felt my heart tighten at the look. I would need to reach out to him, soon, tomorrow perhaps – I was strong enough to face it now, and he had things he needed to say before they ate him alive. My friend, my brother, it was time. But not here. Not right now.

Cassian understood, he read it in my eyes, and agreed. The shadows in his eyes lightened and a small grin ghosted across his face as he looked at Feyre, “We all hated each other at first.”

I leaned back into my chair, letting Cassian tell the story we had lived, and trying not to let the questions Feyre had asked earlier drown me in the memories of Amarantha and the choices I had made. I felt that gaping whole inside of me ache again. I would not run from it.

“We _are_ bastards you know. Az and I.” Cassian went on, keeping Feyre’s attention, “The Illyrians… we love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they’re just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them. Az,” he pointed a thumb in his direction, “was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard son of a lord is hated, then you can’t imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldn’t or wouldn’t remember.”

I could hear the bitterness in the words he spoke, even as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Az’s father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger.”

Feyre’s eyes flickered to mine with a question I easily understood and I leaned forward again to explain, “Like the daemati, shadowsingers are rare – coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can’t.”

Feyre’s eyes widened just a little and she turned to look at Azriel who met her gaze steadily, the shadows dancing around him, and he just nodded once, an affirmation of what I said, and nothing else.

Cassian continued. “The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp. But me… once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp, and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die.”

Mor snorted delicately, “They would have been smarted throwing you off a cliff.”

Cassian grinned at her, “Oh definitely.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, “Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp I’d been born in,” his voice went cold, his eyes flashing ice, “I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died.”

Silence fell again. We all knew the story, and there was little that could be said about it. It had happened, and Cassian had taken revenge – and we were making changes to make sure it never happened again. But change is hard, and slow, and the bitterness about the past, it took time to fade.

I took a breath and then explained to Feyre, “The Illyrians are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.”

Azriel had withdrawn into his shadows, his gaze shifting to look away from all of us, out the windows, as though listening to the shadows that shielded him – taking comfort in their silent song. 

“They’re barbarians,” Amren supplied with distaste, neither of my brothers argued – nor did I for that matter, and even Mor snorted her agreement. “They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors.” Her lip curled up in distaste.

I cringed – she was not wrong. “My mother was low born,” I explained to Feyre, who had remained silent all this time, taking in what we all told her, and all that we were not telling her – the secrets and stories woven in among it all. “and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war-camps. When females come of age in the camps – when they have their first bleeding – their wings are… clipped. Just an incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever.” The anger at this tradition roiled up in me and I had to stop talking for a moment, to hold it at bay before I continued. “And my mother – she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs – anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadn’t yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived, and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camp’s lord. She tried to flee – took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp’s lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother thrashing and fighting like a wildcat, and…” I paused, swallowing once, wondered if this would snap the reality of our bond into place for her, and not sure if I was hoping for it, or terrified of it, “The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her.”

I froze. And waited. Mor’s gaze was locked on me, but mine was locked on Feyre.

Her brows furrowed, and it did not snap into place, not for her. Instead she asked her first question in quite some time, “Misted?”

Mor let out a low sigh of disappointment that was echoed in my heart.

Cassian however let out a low chuckle, and his humor drove me to demonstrate – show off a bit – I did like flexing my powers on occasion. 

Gesturing briefly, the lemon garnishing the remaining chicken on my plate floated up in front of Feyre, spinning lightly in the air, and with a flick of my index finger it… misted. Disintegrated into a fine, lemon scented mist that blew away with the first gentle wind through the open doors on the balcony.

I saw her pale and lean back, swallowing once before she looked at me again.

I gave her a wane smile – misting was both effective and awful and I rarely used that ability. “Through the blood-rain,” I told her, “my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her.” Just as it had not for Feyre and might never do so. But looking at her sitting there beside me, and imagining what it might have been like for my father, finding his Mate being restrained while she screamed and thrashed... I understood his motivation for misting the men that held her – I could easily imagining misting the whole damn village in retribution. My Feyre…

I looked away for a moment, trying to banish the image of the same near fate happening to Feyre, before I continued on with the tale. “My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they tried to do to her – what they did to the females among them.” I finally looked back at Feyre, and there was something in her gaze… sympathy, I thought and burning ice – anger at the tradition that subjected women, that denied them freedom, as hers had been denied. The ice was beautiful and wild and radiant, and I felt my heart expand with hope at the sight of it. “She tried for decades to get my father to ban it,” I continued, “but the War was coming, and he wouldn’t risk isolation the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him.” 

“A real prize, your father,” Mor grumbled as she reached for a new bottle of wine and filled her glass.

I smirked a bit, “At least he liked you.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste – she had not liked my father, or how he had treated me or my mother… whom she had loved dearly, and my mother had loved and cherished Mor as though she was her own daughter. Even my sister… my throat constricted for a moment, before the thought continued – even my sister had loved Mor, dearly.

Shaking my head a little, I sighed and folded my arms across my chest, leaning back as I explained a little more about my past to Feyre – more than I had told her in the six months we had known each other. “My father and mother, despite being Mates, were wrong for each other. My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time – but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased… She wanted me to know her people’s culture.”

Mor, swirling her wine in her cup interjected, “She wanted to keep you out of your father’s claws.”

At her words Azriel seemed to come to himself, blinking once, and banishing the memory that had held him prisoner. The shadows that had swirled around him, almost covering him completely, eased into mere wisps curling around him.

I smirked, “That too,” I added dryly. “When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war-camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back.”

Feyre stiffened and leaned forward, her eyes darkening with what almost looked like concern. “She abandoned you?”

I shook my head and answered quickly, almost fiercely, “No – never.” Then relaxed, easing my voice, “She was staying at the camp as well. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train.”

Feyre’s eyes filled with disbelief. 

Cassian caught the look and laughed, “Backward, like he said.”

I chuckled and shrugged, “I was scared out of my mind,” I admitted, without shame, “I’d been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it’s rare amongst them – usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors.” I saw her gaze flash to the Siphons on Cassian and Azriel’s hands. “I tried to use a Siphon during those years and shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasn’t compatible – the stones couldn’t hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways.” And it had been Amren who had helped me then, helped me understand and control the power that swirled through me – and had she not, it would have devoured me and half the Night Court before someone could have had a shot at stopping me.

Mor laughed and teased me, “So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord.”

I rolled my eyes at her, but continued – this story was nearly as long in its telling as it had been to live it… but Feyre did not seem to mind, and was soaking up the details like a parched land dying of thirst, long awaiting that first drop of rain, and soaking up each drop that splatted across its barren soil with brazen desire for more, more… more.

“The camp-lord banned me from using my magic. For all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess.” Despite my words, I couldn’t help but grin a bit, glancing to Cassian.

Cassian, completely unashamed, shrugged and said with amusement, “You were so _clean_.” Feyre looked from me to him, “The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord – how fancy you were in your new training clothes.”

Azriel arched a brow at Feyre, “Cassian,” he explained blandly, “resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs.” There wasn’t an ounce of pride in his words, or acceptance for the manner in which his people, our people, conducted themselves.

Mor just shook her head and sipped at her wine, while Amren’s eyes swirled and looked… disgusted, but also tolerant – more so than Azriel was, or ever would be.

Feyre was… I’m not sure what she was. Listening – that at least, and I wasn’t about to ask for more, not yet at least. Her choice, always her choice.

Cassian just chuckled at what Azriel had said, and yet… all of the sudden something in Feyre’s eyes shifted and she _looked_ at Cassian – past the handsome, jovial demeanor he favored, to the boy that had starved and froze and fought for every inch of his life.

And that same something that was in Feyre’s eyes, shifted in Cassian, and in their shared gaze there was a sudden comradeship. An understanding born of similar suffering and desperation – an understanding that the rest of us, though having borne our own trials, still could not understand. And in that moment, I knew that Feyre had won over Cassian, that he would stand beside her, and that he would train her.

Cassian smiled at her slightly, and gave her a subtle nod of that camaraderie, before expanding on what Azriel had said a moment earlier. “I’d beaten every boy in our age group twice over already. But when Rhys arrived, in his clean clothes, and he smelled… different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked.” He let out a low chuckle, “We both got three lashings apiece for the fight.”

Feyre flinched – at the words and the chuckle. Sometimes though, you had to laugh in the face of such misery, just so it couldn’t defeat you.

Amren spoke up then, “They do worse, girl, in those camps. Three lashings is practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks.”

Feyre drew back and looked at me, with that same sympathy she had shown earlier and a touch of accusation that I understood but did not agree with. “Your mother willingly sent you into that?”

I shrugged and nodded once, “My mother didn’t want me to rely on my power,” I explained. “She knew from the moment she conceived me that I’d be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me.”

I gestured broadly then, “My education was another weapon – which was why she went with me, to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window.” I arched a brow at her, “It was there that I saw Cassian trudging through the mud – toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing, they find their own shelter, own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war-band, they’ll be bottom-ranking forever, but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, he’d stay in the cold.”

Azriel cut in, his voice as cold as the mountains we had trained in, “Those mountains offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine.”

Feyre’s arms wrapped around herself in response, as though her body remembered such cold biting at her, stealing her warmth and her strength.

I nodded at Cassian with a grim smile, “After my lessons, my mother cleaned my lashings, and as she did, I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didn’t sit well.”

Cassian snorted, “Apparently not, because in the dead of night, that little prick woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with him.” He shook his head slightly, “And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. His mother was _livid_. But I’ll never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, ‘There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.’ Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed. I’d spent my life sleeping on the ground – and when I balked she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it.”

Feyre glanced between us and asked, “And you were friends after that?”

Cassian barked a laugh.

I grinned and shook my head, “No – Cauldron no. We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn’t until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies.”

Cassian grinned and reached around behind Amren to clap Azriel on the shoulder – who only sighed with long-suffering affection. Amren simply shifted forward to avoid the sudden display of affection between the two.

“A new bastard in the camp,” Cassian nearly crowed with amusement, “and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldn’t even _fly_ thanks to-“

Mor cut in, lazily but succinctly, “Stay on track, Cassian.”

Azriel’s face, which had warmed slightly at Cassian’s initial teasing, had withdrawn once again, but Cassian just shrugged, as though he didn’t notice – which I knew was not true, but also knew that Azriel did not want and would not accept any kind of sympathy on our part.

Cassian just took his arm back, leaned forward again and continued, “Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no. By Rhys’s mother had known Az’s mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together.”

Feyres arms slipped around her waist to rest on her lap, relaxing a little again. “Do you have any gifts?” She asked, gesturing to Azriel and myself, “Like – them?”

Mor cut in teasingly, “A volatile temper doesn’t count.”

Cassian grinned at her, then shrugged, “No. I don’t – not beyond a heaping pile of killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.”

I frowned slightly and leaned forward, intending on disagreeing with him – his prowess in battle was its own power, in and of itself. But Cassian didn’t give me a chance as he continued, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster – like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.”

I winced slightly – though… he was not wrong, at the time we reached manhood it was true, all Illyrians went through it, more in touch with our primal nature than most other fae, it was a driving force in us. The years had helped mellow that out though, thank the Cauldron.

Amren breathed out sharply in disgust, “Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?”

Mor clicked her tongue in agreement, “Repulsive.”

Feyre… Feyre almost looked as though she wanted to smile, even laugh. My heart eased in my chest, and I smiled in turn at my brother.

Cassian shrugged, undeterred by their assessment and went on, “Rhys’s power grew every day – and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist _everyone_ if he felt like it. And the two of us… we weren’t far behind.” He tapped the Siphon on one hand with one finger, “A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons -  born and bred _for_ the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from.”

Azriel leaned forward then, his voice going dark with the shadows that curled around him, “Then the War came.” His gaze met Feyre’s, “And Rhys’s father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years.”

I reached for my glass of wine and swirled it, remembering the day he had appeared in camp to take stock of his warriors – and of me, the son he had all but ignored for my entire childhood and young adult life. “My father saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history.” I shook my head once, and took a long sip of wine before continuing, “He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.”

And I wouldn’t have. Despite everything – despite the fact that he had ignored me, and my mother for the better part of two decades, except for when he required us for one court function or another, or how he would occasionally demand my mother to attend him for breeding – the thought Of which turned my stomach. Despite all of that, he was still my father. I had always been loyal, and he could not see that, could not trust me in that. Perhaps… perhaps I had never been worthy of trust, as Feyre did not trust me now, perhaps there was something inherit about my nature. I let out a sigh and turned my attention to Cassian as he continued the story.

“So the prick separated us,” he snickered with amusement – as though separation, while disheartening during a war, would make one bit of difference to our abilities, our power, and our will-power to see it out and each other, to the end of the conflict. “He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger – mostly for spying and his dirty work.” My eyes narrowed at that, dirty work indeed – I knew some of what he demanded Azriel do, and he did it, without complaint, loyal as I was, but it had been… immoral to a fault, and I knew it still weighed heavily on Azriel’s soul, though he would never admit it… not even to Mor, who was really the only one who could get him to admit to anything, ever. 

“We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged.” Cassian gestured, and there was a tightness to his eyes as he admitted, “They’d send around casualty lists amongst the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I’d see their names on it.” We had all done that, I remember the gut twisting feeling I had as I scanned those lists, day after day and prayed I wouldn’t see their names on them. “But then Rhys was captured-“ 

I suddenly cut in, sharply, as I wasn’t expecting him to mention that, “ _That_ is a story for another time.”

Cassian paused, arching his brows, then nodded and let it go.

Feyre looked towards me and for some reason I could not avoid looking at her – perhaps needing solace in her gray-blue eyes from the memories that still haunted me. I found it, and relaxed, and continued the story for her now. “Once I became High Lord, I appointed these four to my Inner Circle, and told the rest of my father’s old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of two females and two Illyrian bastards.”

She looked… understanding – as though this behavior was something she recognized, maybe from her mortal life? Perhaps fae and mortals were not so different. “What – what happened to them then?”

I shrugged, arching and shifting my wings lightly behind me. “The nobility of the Night Court fall into one of three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breed’s rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives.”

She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Are they – are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?”

Mor’s face twisted in distaste as I nodded. “In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They’re happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity.” 

Mor let out a breath and said, “The Court of Nightmares.”

Feyre glanced around at all of us, her gaze lingering on mine as I felt her back straighten again and she asked the question that she had been building towards this entire evening. “And what is this court?”

It was Cassian who spoke up, his eyes clear and bright – and _proud_ , “The Court of Dreams.” 

And it was – fifty years under Amarantha’s yoke had not destroyed me, it had not destroyed my family, and it could not destroy our purpose – to dream of a world that was at peace, and free.

She seemed to process this for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if she believed, but she didn’t reject it out of hands. Progress, however small, was sweet relief to me.

Finally she looked to Amren and considered her for a moment before asking, “And you?”

We all tensed nearly imperceptibly, waiting to see how Amren would choose to answer her question – and all of the unspoken ones. Amren chose to stick to the path of shadowed truths, “Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it.”

I couldn’t help smirking slightly and ultimately was not surprised at Amren's choice to limit how she answered, unless asked a specific, direct question, she rarely gave details about herself.

Feyre considered her a moment, then turned her gaze on Mor, asking her the same question but only with her eyes this time.

Mor learned back in her seat as Azriel leaned towards her, watching every movement she made as she shrugged and answered simply, “I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares.” She twined a lock of curly hair around her finger, meeting Feyre’s gaze and sharing something with her that words could not express in that look. “So I got out.”

Feyre swallowed once at what she saw there – reading perhaps the pain long buried beneath those words, a pain we all still raged over to this very day.

Cassian broke the moment, his rage was perhaps the most personal of all of ours in regards to what Mor went through – I knew he still blamed himself for what happened to her, and a couple hundred years did not ease the burden he carried.

“What’s your story, then?” He asked, with a jerk of his chin at Feyre.

She looked surprised, then glanced at me in silent question, but I just shrugged – no, I had not told them. This was her chance to interview us and let her decide if she wanted to work with us – but it was also their choice as well. Trust had to be mutual, and with what was coming for us, we had to trust each other.

She straightened her back, looking around the group again as she said, “I was born to a wealthy merchant family, with two older sisters and parents who only cared about their money and social standing. My mother died when I was eight; my father lost his fortune three years later. He sold everything to pay off his debts, moved us into a hovel, and didn’t bother to find work while he let us slowly starve for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He wouldn’t work – couldn’t, because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt. And I kept us all alive, if not near starvation at times for five years. Until… everything happened.”

We all remained quiet – I knew most of her story, I had been in her mind enough to pick it all up, but they did not. And none of them, not even Mor and most especially not Feyre, knew how her story pertained to mine, how deeply our lives had become interwoven. Azriel’s gaze was dark as he considered her words. Amren seemed almost… disinterested, which I knew was not the case, but her reactions to certain situations could still be odd. Mor looked at her with kindness, that warm, welcoming kindness the bleed out of every pore of her body, radiant in her soul.

It was Cassian who’s gaze turned assessing again, inspecting the way she held her body and moved, even how she breathed. “You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?”

She shook her head, her brows furrowed, confused at his question.

He braced his forearms on the table again and grinned, “Lucky for you, you’ve just found yourself a teacher.”

She froze, then opened her mouth to protest, then closed her mouth and just… stared at him. We all waited to see her reaction, and when it came, it was… hesitant, submissive, as she had been when she was with Tamlin. “You don’t think it sends a bad message if people see me learning to fight – using weapons.”

Cassian looked… floored.

Azriel just shook his head once.

 _I_ felt the rage build inside me. Fucking _Tamlin._

But it was Mor who responded, with a voice of such venom – not directed at Feyre, but at Tamlin and the Spring Court, and Hewn City and her father – and anyone who dared set limits on how high a person could fly. “Let me tell you two things,” she said as she met Feyre’s gaze with unflinching resolution. “As someone who has perhaps been in your shoes before.” And in that moment, all of our hearts beat as one – a group of broken souls, who had clawed our way through our pain and our sorrows, to build ourselves back up, brick by brick – our stories might all have been different, but we all understood each other, and we all understood Feyre and where she had come from and what she had been through. We understood what she had sacrificed and we did not diminish her for it or for being Made or younger or whatever bullshit reasons others had tried to do so. Here, with us, in this group, she was simply Feyre, and we welcomed her with open arms. 

“One,” Mor said, “you have left the Spring Court.” I saw Feyre flinch slightly, but she did not look away from Mor. “If that does not send a message, for good or bad, then your training will not, either. Two,” she rested a palm on the table and leaned towards her to emphasize her next point, “I once lived in a place where the opinion of others mattered. It suffocated me, nearly broke me. So you’ll understand me, Feyre, when I say that I know what you feel, and I know what they tried to do to you, and that with enough courage, you can say to hell with a reputation.” Mor smiled a little at her then and gentled her voice, “You do what you love, what you need.”

Feyre just stared at her, long and hard, her breathing a little fast, hands fisting lightly on her lap. She looked as though she was ready to take flight – though I wasn’t sure if it was to flee or to simply embrace her freedom. I held my breath and waited… one moment… two… 

Turning in her seat, Feyre faced Cassian, and with her chin up said, “I’ll think about it.” He gave her a half grin and nodded – it would be her choice, always her choice.

I was thrilled that she was willing to consider working his him, it was a start, and I reached through the bond, letting a shadow light caress of pleasant surprise brush up against her walls.

But then she absolutely floored me. I honestly had not expected an answer tonight – I had expected we would finish here and I would fly her back to the town house, and she would take several days to think it through – and while we needed those days to work, I would let her have them.

Her words blew that plan away into shadows and mist, “I accept your offer – to work with you. To earn my keep. And help with Hybern in whatever way I can.”

She… she did it. Oh my beautiful, radiant, wonderful Feyre… she did it. She chose life, she chose purpose… she chose to _fight_. I could feel tears sting my eyes, although I refused to let them fall. I wanted to sweep her into my arms and kiss her, long and hard and oh so deep…

I had to force my body to still – though my heart was hopeless as it raced erratically in my chest – and spoke far more calmly than I felt.

“Good.” The others around me raised their brows at what she had said – I had not explained to them that this had been an interview for them, nor had I explained to her it was also an interview for her. Sometimes to achieve a goal you had to play one side off the other and let the dice fall where they may. For once, the Cauldron had been generous. “Because we start tomorrow,” I explained.

Feyre’s eyes widened and she spluttered, “Where? And what?”

I folded my hands and rested them on the table in front of me – glad they were not shaking, and finally revealed what I had known these many months and had told none of them – not even Amren, even after she had figured out the truth about the Cauldron.

“Because the King of Hybern is indeed about to launch a war, and he wants to resurrect Jurian to do it.”

Feyre continued to stare at me with her wide, beautiful eyes – the rest of my family however, looked at me with total disbelief. All except for Amren, who had gone completely still – something which Azriel noted and caused his disbelief to fade as he watched her closely. All of these years past, he still did not entirely trust her – he had never voiced his concerns, but it was obvious in the way he observed her from time to time. She however, had voiced it to me in private and with much humor. There was no humor on her face now, however.

Cassian finally spat out, “Bullshit. There’s no way to do that.”

Mor let out a low groan, “Why would the king want to resurrect _Jurian_? He was so odious. All he liked to do was talk about himself.”

Despite the fact that this was no joking matter, I felt a corner of my mouth tug up in a grin at Mor’s outburst – she wasn’t wrong. He had been a pain in the ass. 

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug, “That’s what I want to find out, and how the king plans to do it.”

Amren’s eyes flashed as she finally spoke, “Word will have reached him about Feyre’s Making. He knows it’s possible for the dead to be remade.”

I felt Feyre shift in her seat, uncomfortable with the thought. I sympathized entirely with her. 

Mor shook her head and countered, “All seven High Lords would have to agree to that. There’s not a chance it happens. He’ll take another route.” She suddenly went quiet, putting together pieces of the puzzle I had been juggling for months, years, and something clicked for her. She turned to look at me with narrowed eyes, “All the slaughtering – the massacres at temples. You think it’s tied to this.”

I nodded, “I know it’s tied to this. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for certain.” I gestured to Azriel, “But Azriel confirmed that they’d raided the memorial in Sangravah three days ago.” Mor glanced at Azriel, frowning slightly – he hadn’t told her, this time per my orders. He shifted his gaze from Amren to Mor and shrugged apologetically – he had obeyed my command. “They’re looking for something – or found it.”

I felt Feyre lean forward beside me and I turned to look at her as a piece of the puzzle clicked for her as well, “That – that’s why the ring and the finger bone vanished after Amarantha died. For this. But who…” She trailed off and looked up at me with such horror, “They never caught the Attor, did they?”

Rage. Terrible rage raced through me. And anger at myself. I had been so focused on Feyre at the end, when she died and after – I had let myself be distracted… All for a good cause, as she was sitting here beside me, and I would rather that than _any_ other eventuality. But I had not caught the Attor, and I had not stopped him from taking the ring and the finger bone. He had escaped, and he had not paid for his many, _many_ crimes.

Clenching one hand into a fist, I said quietly, “No. No, they didn’t.” Looking away from her, I looked to Amren and asked, “How does one take an eye and a finger bone and make it into a man again? And how do we stop it?”

Amren stared at her wine glass, still full and untouched, refusing to meet my gaze. “You already know how to find the answer. Go to the Prison. Talk to the Bone Carver.”

Both Cassian and Mor cussed at once, “Shit.”

I knew the answer already, but I said to Amren calmly, “Perhaps you would be more effective, Amren.”

Amren’s gaze flashed to meet mine as she hissed, “I will not set foot in that Prison, Rhysand, and you know it. 

I felt Feyre flinch beside me.

Amren jerked her chin towards Cassian and Azriel, “So go yourself, or send one of these dogs to do it for you.”

Cassian flashed a toothy grin at Amren and she snapped hers at him in response. 

Azriel, always the one willing to take up the work no one wanted, no matter the stain it might spread on his soul, just shook his head and said, “I’ll go. The Prison sentries know me – what I am.”

I gave him a brief smile, of thanks for all that he was willing to offer, but then shook my head. “If anyone’s going to the Prison, it’s me. And Feyre.”

Interestingly enough, I did not feel Feyre withdraw from me, or even stiffen for that matter. She just watched us all, listening and gauging what everyone was saying.

Mor gaped at me and then asked sharply, “What?”

Amren returned her swirling silver gaze to mine, considering, then nodded as she said, “He won’t talk to Rhys, or Azriel. Or to any of us. We’ve got nothing to offer him. But an immortal with a mortal soul…” Her gaze drifted to meet Feyre’s, then dipped, staring at Feyre’s heart, as if she could see it, splayed out in front of her. “The Bone Carver might be willing indeed to talk to her.”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to Feyre, as though assessing, challenging, cajoling her. She met everyone’s gaze, even mine – and there was no fear there in her eyes. And I wasn’t sure if I should be pleased by that, or terribly concerned.

I leaned towards her and said quietly, “Your choice, Feyre.” Always. Always her choice.

She was quiet, considering… then shrugged, “How bad can it be?”

Cassian let out a breath, and answered simply, “Bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	6. The Cost of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand and Feyre arrive in Velaris  
> Ch. 2 - Feyre sees Velaris for the first time  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand takes Feyre through a tour of Velaris  
> Ch. 4 - Rhysand flies Feyre up to the House of Wind  
> Ch. 5 - The family dinner at the HOW / Feyre decides to work with them  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand returns Feyre to the town house after dinner  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand has a private meeting with Amren (New Scene)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

The rest of the evening passed by quickly – after revealing the truth, well, part of it, about what Hybern was up to, and my plans about how to counter it. After everyone was done arguing and debating, which took far less time than I had expected, the group split up. Everyone needed time to think and process, and so were soon heading for their own rooms or tasks that they had left to complete. I guided Feyre out to the balcony, and with her permission, lifted her up into my arms, then launched into the sky.

She had remained quiet, had in fact been quiet through most of the last hour of the dinner. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign of something – fear or doubt, or perhaps becoming too overwhelmed… or if she was just processing everything in her own way, allowing us to work around her while she figured out how she fit into everything.

As we flew, I remained quiet as well, my thoughts all a jumble, and entirely circled around her. The most prominent thought was how I had her in my arms _again._  I should have been thinking about the coming war, about the memorial that had been sacked, about a thousand other things, but here I was, mooning over the fact that I was holding her, tand how she had chosen me, my family, how she had chosen to live, to fight. I thought about all the nights I have had in my life, from the happiest to the absolute worst, and realized this night… this night topped all of them. This night where she had chosen to live. My Feyre… I tightened my arms around her as we glided down towards Velaris, swerving to catch the air currents as I circled us towards the town house. 

With the music of Velaris twisting up to welcome us home, Feyre finally looked at me and asked quietly, “Tonight – I felt you again. Through the bond. Did I get past your shields?”

I swallowed and did not meet her gaze – her questions always asked too much, she was too clever for her own good. I had to be careful, to not lie, but to also not give her too much… I didn’t want to burden her with the truth – she had been here all of one day, it would be too much. She did not deserve that. “No,” I said quietly, scanning the streets below us as they became clearer, “This bond is… a living thing. An open channel between us, shaped by my powers, shaped…” I hesitated, and then continued, “by what you needed when we made the bargain.”

She frowned slightly. “I needed not to be dead when I agreed.”

And that was all she saw it as – all she saw me as. A means to an end. I offered her freedom, and purpose, and nothing else, she saw nothing else in me. It hurt, Mother save me, did it hurt.

I finally looked into her eyes, dark with shadows and said quietly, “You needed not to be alone.”

She looked away from me, avoiding my gaze.

I deflected – had to, to save myself. “I’m still learning how and why we can sometimes feel things the other doesn’t want known,” I admitted, which was only sort of the truth – I was still learning about this Mating bond, as it was new to me, but I understood why we could feel each other sometimes… it was because we had been Made for each other. But I could not tell her that, so this time – this time I lied, “So I don’t have an explanation for what you felt tonight.”

She was quiet for several more minutes before she said, “You let Amarantha and the entire world think you rule and delight in a Court of Nightmares. It’s all a front – to keep what matters most safe.”

I nearly froze – only hundreds of years of training and experience kept us in the air at those words. Earlier today, when we had walked the city, she had hurled such accusations at me, cut me with them… and now, she said this. She… extended me this kindness. I tightened my hands on her for a brief second, then relaxed them, and told her quietly the quintessential truth of who I was, “I love my people, and my family. Do not think I wouldn’t become a monster to keep them protected.”

Her eyes flashed to my face – and though she had been kind, there was still pain inside of her, still hatred for what I had done to her, as she cut me again with her next words. “You already did that Under the Mountain.” 

I flinched, and then blanked my face. She was not wrong. The things I had done to protect my people had been monstrous. I did not look at her as I admitted, “And I suspect I’ll have to do it again soon enough.”

She studied my face, but there was nothing there for her to read – I had shut it all down. This did not dissuade her however, and she asked the same question she had asked earlier this afternoon. “What was the cost? Of keeping this place secret and free?”

I shifted and shot down, angling for the roof of the town house, and then brought us up gently, landing lightly on it. I set her legs down, and she moved to step away, but I reached up to grip her chin lightly in my fingers and stared down into those eyes that threatened to cleave my soul in half.

“You know the cost already.”

She stared at me – and though she didn’t actually say the words out loud, I saw them written there, plain as day.

_Amarantha’s whore._

I nodded to her. Yes.

Continuing to grip her chin lightly, studying her eyes, I finally explained to her the full truth of the decision I had made.

“When she tricked me out of my powers and left the scraps, it was still more than the others. And I decided to use it to tap into the mind of every Night Court citizen she captured, and anyone who might know the truth. I made a web between all of them, actively controlling their minds every second of every day, every decade, to forget about Velaris, to forget about Mor, and Amren, and Cassian, and Azriel.” The strain it had been on me, to hold all of those minds… at first I had thought I would break under it, the pain had been immense, unbearable – I was certain I would go mad with it… but I hadn’t, Mother save me, somehow I had held that web together, and not lost who I was inside of it. “Amarantha wanted to know who was close to me – who to kill and torture. But my true court was here, ruling this city and the others. And I used the remainder of my power to shield them all from sight and sound. I had only enough for one city – one place. I chose the one that had been hidden from history already. _I_ chose, and now must live with the consequences of knowing there were more left outside who suffered.” And those who died would haunt me for as long as I lived, and those who had suffered but survived – there was no adequate way that I could apologize to them for the decisions that I made, except to make sure it _never_ happened again. It was all I had to give. My life, my power, my crown… my very soul, if need be. “But for those here… anyone flying or traveling near Velaris would see nothing but barren rock, and if they tried to walk through it, they’d find themselves suddenly deciding otherwise. Sea travel and merchant trading were halted – sailors became farmers, working the earth around Velaris instead. And because my powers were focused on shielding them all, Feyre, I had very little to use against Amarantha.” My eyes burned into hers, “So I decided that to keep her from asking questions about people who mattered, I would be her whore.” 

She did not flinch. She did not look away.

I released her chin, but as my hand dropped, she reached up and gripped my wrist, her delicate fingers brushing over my skin. “It’s a shame,” she said quietly, “That others in Prythian don’t know. A shame that you let them think the worst.”

In those words, she redeemed me. And shattered me. And saved me.

Feyre.

I took a step back, pulling my wrist from her grip gently, and flared my wings behind me, flapping them slowly.

I wanted to stay. I wanted to tell her.

I had to go. 

“As long as the people who matter most know the truth,” I said, meeting her gaze and willing her to understand that she was the person who mattered the most to me, ever, “I don’t care about the rest. Get some rest.”

And then I shoved myself up into the sky, hard and fast, spreading my wings to catch the current and soar away before I could ruin everything good that had happened today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	7. Of Dreams and Broken Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand and Feyre arrive in Velaris  
> Ch. 2 - Feyre sees Velaris for the first time  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand takes Feyre through a tour of Velaris  
> Ch. 4 - Rhysand flies Feyre up to the House of Wind  
> Ch. 5 - The family dinner at the HOW / Feyre decides to work with them  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand returns Feyre to the town house after dinner  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand has a private meeting with Amren (New Scene)
> 
> *Note: I like Amren and wished there were a few more personal moments with her in the books, so I wrote one up. :D
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

I had stayed among the stars for several hours when I felt the thought brush my mind.

_Rhysand._

I let out a sigh.

_Rhysand do not ignore me. We need to talk._

Amren.

She was not daemati, not the way Feyre or I were, but Amren was… different. She could not enter my mind, but she could call out to it. I could ignore her, even wall against her. But I had told her we would talk after dinner – I would have preferred we waited until tomorrow, but it appeared she was not that patient.

_Rhysand-_

I growled and finally replied.

_I’m coming._

Twisting in the sky, I dove down towards Velaris, catching current after current as I worked my way lower until, with my wings beating to balance me, I landed on the quiet street her loft apartment was located on. I could have winnowed to her but forcing her to wait these extra minutes out of sheer orneriness amused me and I knew would annoy her.

Climbing the stairs to her door, I knocked, and it unlatched and opened an inch. Pushing it open the rest of the way, I stepped inside and shut it behind me before turning to face Amren, who was seated behind her desk as she often was when we met up here at her home.

She was leaning back in her seat, arms crossed beneath her breasts, legs crossed and a face set in a look of stolid disapproval.

Great. This would be fun.

Letting out a sigh, I crossed the room to stand behind the chair opposite her and rested my hands on it lightly.

“Amren, I have to go face the Bone Carver in a few hours, I’m tired and not interested in games. Get it out and over with, please.”

Her eyes narrowed at me.

“She is your Mate.”

I dropped my head, fingers digging into the back of the padded chair for a moment before releasing.

“Yes.” 

Silence.

She dropped her foot to the floor and leaned forward, placing both hands on her desk, her voice going sharp, “ _Yes?_ Just, _yes?_ That is all you are going to say to me Rhysand? What the hell are you playing at, boy?”

I felt anger beat a path down my spine, and I lifted my head, snarling at her, “This is _none_ of your concern Amren.”

Her gaze turned lethal, and her voice dropped low and quiet, dangerous. “ _You_ are my concern Rhysand.”

And I froze, not from fear – I was not afraid of Amren, not of her power, or of any chance that she might hurt me. Amren was many things, and most of them dangerous, but she was my friend, and I trusted her absolutely. No, I froze, because as dangerous as her voice had sounded, I read what lay underneath – concern, and deep compassion.

I swallowed once… twice.

Amren’s gaze cleared, and she leaned back again, “You need to tell her.”

I managed a weak grin, but there was no actual humor in me, “You sound like Mor.”

Amren arched a brow at me. “Mor knows?”

I nodded once.

“Who else?” She asked.

“No one,” I answered quietly.

She studied me for several more minutes, then asked, “Why haven’t you told her Rhysand?”

I didn’t answer. Because all of the arguments I had with Mor about not telling her were too… personal. Arguments I could have with my cousin, but with Amren…

She stared at me, and her gaze was unwavering. “Rhysand, a Mate is more than a breeding partner.”

I shook my head, once, “That is all that a Mate is, and she doesn’t need that burden laid at her feet right now.”

Amren stood up and walked around to stand close to me, staring me down.

“If that were the case, your mother would have flown away and never returned. You know there was no love between your parents. Did you never ask yourself why she stayed?”

I frowned at her, “My sister and myself…”

She arched a brow, “Did not come for many, many years.”

I stared at her, confused.

“A Mated pair will always, _always_ be stronger together than they ever could be apart. But only if they accept the bond. Your mother was feisty and wild, and powerless before your father found her. She became so much more after, did so much more than she ever could have alone. Your father was a vicious asshole before your mother – because of her he understood a degree of compassion, and many of his approaches changed, and for the better. Do you understand me Rhysand? I am not talking about magical power; I’m talking about the power within one’s soul – about the way you approach the world and those who inhabit it.” Amren’s silver eyes burned as she stared into mine, “Feyre has already changed your soul, it is obvious in the way you are going about this war – and the bond hasn’t even been accepted. I cannot even _begin_ to imagine what else you could accomplish if she knew and it was accepted by both of you. Imagine what _she_ could do.”

I had stopped breathing at some point, my fingers digging into the back of the chair again, nails cutting into the fabric.

She held my gaze for another solid minute, before returning to her chair, settling into it and gesturing at the front door causing it to unlock and open.

“It’s your choice, of course – but you need to understand the ramifications of not telling her – that you are denying both of your souls a chance to become what they were always meant to be. Together.” She gestured with her chin at the door, “Now go, and get some sleep. You are going to need it for the Bone Carver.”

I said nothing, only stood up straight and turned, walking out of her loft, the door clicking shut behind me. I stood there for a moment, staring up at the stars that beckoned me back to them… but I did not take to the sky again. I pulled my darkness up around me and winnowed into my bedroom.

Once there I reached out with a tendril of darkness and brushed it through Feyre’s room – not touching her mind, just confirming she was there, and safe. Then drew back and let out a breath. 

Feyre. My Mate… My… My nothing. She was not mine.

But she had changed me – I knew she had. From the first moment I saw her on Calanmai she had changed me. Before that even she had changed me. Irrevocably.

Could I… be that, for her?

I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

It did not matter if I could be. It did not matter what Mor and Amren thought – I knew Feyre better than they did and I knew… I knew it was not the right time. And it did not matter how much it hurt me, it was not right. And I would not do it. I would not burden her. 

Opening my eyes, I began to undress, unbuttoning and removing my tunic, tossing it towards the hamper, then sitting on the edge of my bed and beginning to remove my shoes. Kicking them off, I stood up to remove my pants when my hands froze.

I felt it.

I felt the knife edge drag along my ribs.

I felt her. Amarantha. Against me. On me.

“ _Monster…”_

My breathing became ragged as the panic swirled around me… I looked around my room and… she wasn’t… she wasn’t here…

And it hit me, like a blow to the gut. _Feyre._

I winnowed into her bedroom – running to her would have taken too long – and already the nightmare had dragged on for her. The first thing that hit me was the scent of fire, of something burning… When the darkness cleared, I saw her, twisted up and thrashing in bed, her hands, curled into claws of  _fire_ and shredding the bedsheets beneath her.

I didn’t hesitate, crossing the room in two quick steps and reached down, gripping her shoulders and squeezing, shaking her.

“Feyre!”

She thrashed beneath me, screaming – screaming in bloody, irrational terror. And I realized why I hadn’t heard her scream – fire wasn’t the only power that escaped her now, she had circled the room with a bubble of air, containing her screams – if it hadn’t been for the bond, I would never have known she was having a nightmare. The thought made my stomach twist in horror.

She was not waking, and when I tried to brush my mind across hers, she _threw_ me out. In her panic her mind was kicking, flailing too wildly for me to approach.

Her panic was twisting with my own, I wasn’t… How could I… Breathe.

I let loose a touch of my darkness, of my power, and reached out with it ever so lightly. Darkness to soothe, to caress, to calm. I leaned over her, and with that darkness in my voice, called to her yet again, “FEYRE.”

All of the sudden her body froze, and then calmed, resting on the shredded, near smoldering bed. But she was not yet awake.

I squeezed her shoulders again and commanded her gently, “Open your eyes.”

She did, and the normal grey-blue of her eyes was swallowed by her pupil as she stared up at me.

I swallowed and realized my breathing was as ragged as hers was, and tried to slow it as I whispered, “It was a dream.”

Her gaze swept over me, as though trying to prove to herself that this was real. I kept my gaze on her face, and repeated, “A dream.”

She looked from me finally, to the bedroom, reminding herself of where she was. And then she lifted one of her hands, and her breathing hitched as she saw the claws, smoldering with flame… and she shoved me off of her with such force that I stumbled as she rolled for the edge of the bed, hit the ground on her feet and ran for the bathroom. I staggered upright and followed after her quickly, watching as she knelt in front of the toilet and lost the contents of her stomach over, and over.

Swallowing hard, I crossed the bathroom floor and sank down beside her, reaching up to gather her hair out of her face, holding it lightly in one hand. Each time she seemed to notice the flaming claws she began to retch again, so I soothed her gently, “Breathe…” I murmured, “Imagine them winking out like candles, one by one.”

She heaved hard into the toilet once more, and then suddenly they all went out and the claws were her fingers once again, and I felt the bubble of air that had circled the room pop and disappear. She had cut all of her power off at the source with such force there wasn’t a trace of it left.

I smiled lightly, “Well, that’s one way of doing it.”

She retched again lightly, almost as if in response.

My hand holding her hair brushed across her back lightly and she felt so cold, despite the sweat that still beaded her skin. I could feel the sadness, the guilt and terror, rolling down her bond - but the worst of it was the loneliness. She felt so alone in this world, had for so long - Tamlin had held that at bay for a while - but then he had abandoned her and she had fought back her demons all alone, and that, more than anything, ate at her. I wanted to ease her loneliness, I was here now as she threw her guts up - something Tamlin had never done - but it was not a enough. I wanted her to see that she was not alone in her nightmares, that I too fought demons.

“I have this dream…” I told her quietly when there was a lapse between her moments of sickness. “Where it’s not me stuck under her, but Cassian or Azriel.” I swallowed once before I continued, “And she’s pinned their wings to the bed with spikes, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. She’s commanded me to watch, and I have no choice but to see how I failed them.”

She listened to me, still breathing hard and clinging to the toilet… but finally she spit into it once, then reached up to flush it. Twisting slightly she met my gaze as I kept my hand on her hair, is in case she became sick again.

“You never failed them,” she rasped, hoarse from screaming and being sick.

I held her gaze, quiet for a moment before I responded, “I did… horrible things to ensure that.”

Her eyes turned liquid with tears she did not shed as she whispered, “So did I.”

And then gasped and spun, clutching at the toilet again as she threw up the rest of her dinner. I held her hair out the way again, biting my lip as she destroyed herself all over again with her memories.

I dared to reach up and stroke my other hand down her back lightly, comforting her in a way I had only ever imagined doing from the first moment I had shared her nightmares all those months ago.

Moments passed, and when the sickness ebbed and she was able to lean back again and catch her breath, she asked quietly, “The flames?”

I knew what she meant, and answered simply, “Autumn Court.”

She didn’t respond and simply leaned back against the edge of the nearby tub, resting her head against the rim and closed her eyes, and quickly fell into exhausted sleep.

I watched her for long moments, before I stood up and gently helped her lay down on the cool marble floor – so she wouldn’t fall over while I took care of her bed. I winnowed the ruined mattress and sheets out to the alley for collection, and then winnowed one of the guest bedroom mattresses into her room.

I retrieved new sheets and quilts from the hall closet and made up the bed myself, then went back into the bathroom and picked her up gently, carrying her to her bed and settling her down on it, drawing the sheets up around her. I stood there, beside her bed, gazing down at her with such unrelenting sadness in my heart that she was still suffering these nightmares. I would have given myself back to Amarantha in a heartbeat if it meant she never had another nightmare, ever.

Reaching down, I smoothed a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, and felt her shiver, and quickly took my hand away. I did not want to be the cause of her nightmares, and I was terribly, terribly afraid I already had been. Turning away, I left her room, shutting her door lightly behind me and returned to my room, avoiding my bed and sitting at the chair by the desk in front of the window. I sat there the rest of the night, staring at my bed and living through both our nightmares in silence.

And alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


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